By My Side
by everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: S2E19 SPOILERS! The latest instalment of 'By My Side' is called "Love Bombing the Splinter Bomber" and you'll find it in Ch23. It follows on from Ch22 "Careful" which follows directly on from 2x19 "The Dirty Half-Dozen". I get a vague vibe from the interwebs that S2 is going to end pretty traumatically but for the moment here I am, blissfully ignorant, writing happily-ever-afters!
1. Chapter 1

**By My Side**

_S2, E3 SPOILERS: Now that Fitz has encountered Skye's asset, there is no doubt in his mind as to the identity of Coulson's mysterious source within HYDRA. Being underestimated by everyone has its advantages. No one imagines him capable of finding her. (This is all because I am NOT COPING with Fitzsimmons being apart. Holding it together by writing copious amounts of Fitzsimmons fluff for anyone else in the same boat!)_

_..._

Utterly failing to keep dry under the recently purchased carton of milk she held uselessly over her head, Undercover S.H.I.E.L.D Agent Jemma Simmons sprinted back to her apartment through the heavy rain that she felt sure ten minutes previously there had been absolutely no sign of. Meteorology had never been her field.

After soggily navigating lifts and corridors, keys and locks, she stood for a moment, catching her breath and dripping silently into a puddle on her parquet floor.

Then she heard it. A fortnight ago she would have reached for her Icer and flattened herself against the wall. Now she just smiled to herself. Finally, a chance to talk to someone she didn't have to lie to, and over a decent meal at that. And if she played her cards right, maybe this time she could get Coulson to finally give her some real information about Fitz.

Since she left the team, the only thing she really wanted news about was Fitz. He was in the back of her mind all day at work, and in her total social vacuum without him, all her leisure time was spent researching the effects of hypoxia and planning a recovery program that she hoped one day soon to be able to administer to him herself.

It was in the moments of darkness just before she fell asleep each night that she found herself confronted by the extreme frustration of knowing herself to be in love with someone who knew himself to be in love with her and having all of the circumstances of their existence making it futile, or perhaps even a liability, for her to even let him know.

…

In Jemma's kitchen stood a man who was _not_ S.H.I.E.L.D Director Phil Coulson. He blinked hard at the large photograph affixed to her fridge door with a sparkly red love-heart magnet. If the inhabitant of this apartment lived a normal life, a visitor like himself would have assumed the man with her in the photo was her boyfriend. But the man in the photo was _him_.

In the moments since he'd seen Jemma leave, Fitz had let himself in, jemmying the window with a shaky hand, and taken himself on a tour of the apartment he wasn't supposed to know existed. He'd found all of the medical journals spread across her bed, the hypoxia recovery case studies so highlighted and annotated that the original text was barely legible. He had lifted her swathes of hand-written notes to his chest and almost embraced them. All over the pages, dotted here and there throughout her notes, in her scientist's scrawl, Jemma had written his name. He felt teary and so deeply gratified, to be here in her space, where he had imagined himself to be simply absent, and find himself such a tangible presence. Just the knowledge that she hadn't abandoned him, that she made so much room for him in her thoughts and in her emotions, brought a peace to his mind that he hadn't felt since the day she'd left. He knew now that he could go, that he could be satisfied not to know any more. He knew now, with a beautiful certainty, that however long it was that they had to be apart, Jemma would come back to him. He turned back to the window through which he'd come. Then he heard the key turn in the lock. He froze.

"Hi, Sir!" he heard her call cheerfully. "You haven't brought me more kale, have you? I smiled politely last time but I don't think I can face it again!"

Fitz had gotten out of the habit of making witty comebacks. His moment by moment struggles to even name objects right in front of him had made good punch lines hard to come by. But Jemma was suddenly in earshot, standing just out of his line of sight and the fog in his brain had all but gone.

"I find anything can be improved by just a hint of pesto aioli," he replied, and before he'd even finished his sentence she was there in his arms, squeezing him so tightly around his neck, he could barely breathe. "Hang on, hang on," he laughed. "This brain needs more oxygen than most, remember?"

"Oh, Fitz," she sighed, stepping back to look into his eyes. Even though she was dripping wet, and she wore the warm smile he had so keenly felt the loss of, he could determine the tears rolling down her cheeks.

"God, I've missed you, Jemma," he whispered.

And then somehow, before he exactly knew how it happened, she was in his arms again and she was _kissing_ him and he was not complaining, not one little bit. He had never anticipated his little break-and-enter to head in this direction.

"How long do we have?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly, her forehead pressed against his.

"I have no idea," he shrugged, struggling to catch his breath too. "I just walked out and came to find you." He grinned. "Seems it was worth my while."

"Then let's not waste any time," she whispered, taking his hand and heading through the apartment towards her bedroom.

Fitz's eyes widened but he dutifully allowed her to lead him wherever her heart desired. It was straight to the bed. She indicated for him to sit by smiling coyly and applying gentle pressure to his shoulders. Fitz's eyes grew wider still as Simmons knelt on the floor in front of him and began slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

He had a million things to say but words failed to form themselves into anything coherent. At least this time he knew that hypoxia had nothing to do with it. He closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. His shirt felt like it was all the way undone. What next? Surely he was dreaming. He opened his eyes to check.

There was Simmons, adjusting the headset of her stethoscope and giving the chest piece a brisk polish before she applied it to his skin. Fitz let out the breath he'd been holding.

"How have you been?" she asked, sympathetically.

He almost laughed out loud. "Jemma, my brain is a bit unreliable these days. Were you or were you not just kissing me a second ago?"

She smiled at him sweetly. "I _was_ kissing you a second ago. It was very nice. I should have taken that up a long time ago."

"I heartily agree!" Fitz nodded. "But then you asked me how long we had," he counted on his fingers. "Led me to your bedroom, sat me on your bed and unbuttoned my shirt!"

Jemma blushed furiously as she slid the cold chest piece over Fitz' sternum. "Ahh, I can see how you might have got the wrong end of the stick there."

He gestured towards her headset. "To be honest, this feels much more _you_."

Jemma smiled, still focused on the stethoscope. "Don't be too quick to rule anything out."

Fitz's face conveyed his return to the state of surprise. "No, let's not do anything hasty."

She looked up to find his eyes with hers. "I hadn't worked it out yet… when we were at the bottom of the ocean…" Her voice trailed off.

"Worked what out?"

"That I'm in love with you too, Fitz." Without warning, she pressed her lips once more to his, dropping the stethoscope and placing her warm hands against his bare flesh.

A second became a minute, a minute an hour, then two, then three, then more. Before either one of them gave even a thought to the time passing, they found themselves lying still in one another's arms bathed in the moonlight that streamed through the window and across Jemma's bed, illuminting the clothes, journals, notes and the stethoscope strewn across the floorboards.

In the moments of darkness just before she fell asleep, Jemma found herself confronted by the extreme delight of knowing herself to be in love with someone who knew himself to be in love with her. She lay in his arms, her ear pressed to his chest, the sound of his heartbeat reassuringly robust.

Fitz was ever so quietly finding himself to be the happiest man alive. Jemma was where she had always been whenever things had been right with him, and she was now, in a different and even better way, exactly where he wanted her to remain forever.

_By my side._


	2. Chapter 2

_Still no closer to a Fitzsimmons reunion, I entertain myself with this parallel universe in which Simmons is back from HYDRA (perhaps after the events of my previous chapter?) and, as a consequence, Fitz is getting back to his old self…_

Director Phil Coulson, long-term Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. and universal law enforcer of no small consequence, was pretty adept at noticing when something was up. He rapped smartly on the opaque back window of the black SUV parked next to his ailing Lola. A moment of muffled scuffling passed before the dark glass slid away to reveal the slightly flushed visage of Agent Jemma Simmons. Next to her on the back seat, attempting to look nonchalant, was an equally flushed Agent Leo Fitz.

As much as he was aware of the deep inconvenience, and even danger, of having two agents romantically involved within such a small team, Coulson couldn't help but be delighted for Fitzsimmons. And the recent leaps and bounds in Fitz' health and productivity in the mere fortnight since Simmons had returned had been beneficial for everyone. Nonetheless he summoned his least sympathetic tone.

"Care to explain yourselves, Fitzsimmons?"

"Err, we were… um… running a simulation, sir," Simmons began.

"… to, err… test the limits of my claustrophobia," Fitz finished. He smiled brightly. "A few more hours of this and I reckon I'll be cured for life!"

Simmons coughed.

Coulson smiled inwardly. Had he not witnessed so much of their unmistakeably mutually-in-love behaviour, he might have even believed them. Since the incident, Fitz had been prone to panic in tight spaces, but now that Simmons had returned, that was just one of the many symptoms fading into nothing. If anything, he was developing quite a penchant for tight spaces, so long as he was accompanied by his extremely attractive fellow scientist.

A charitable spirit came over Coulson. "Alright," he nodded. "But I can only spare you one more hour. Then we'll need you both back on deck in the lab."

It took quite a bit of his training and self-control not to laugh out loud at the four wide eyes gazing back at him.

"Oh, and Fitz?" he called over his shoulder as he turned away.

"Yes, sir?"

"I think you must have missed a button this morning."

Fitz's face, which had only just regained something akin to its usual shade, flushed to beet as he scrambled to do up his open shirt.

Jemma raised the window. Once obscured, she turned to her clandestine lover. "Fitz?"

"Mm?"

"Do you think we just got caught?"

Fitz grimaced. "I don't think Coulson's easily fooled."

"Especially not by me," Simmons laughed sheepishly. "So why walk away and give us another hour?"

"Well," Fitz grinned, reaching to gather her back into his arms. "My claustrophobia _is_ improving."

"Hmph," Jemma snorted, half laughing. "If anything we'll need to watch that you don't suddenly go the other way."

"Agoraphobia?" Fitz sounded sceptical. "I'm only keen on broom closets when you're the one pulling me into them. I'm pretty sure the same would apply to wide open spaces."

Simmons rested her head in the crook of his neck. "Your recovery has been amazing, Fitz, everyone says so."

"And it started the moment you came back to me." He tightened his hold of her. "I can handle anything if you're by my side."

She turned her face upwards for a kiss. In the fleeting instant before he leaned down to oblige her, he studied her familiar features from this newly intimate angle. The sweetness of her expression, eyes closed, smiling contentedly as she awaited the touch of his lips on hers, caused his heart to almost burst within him. Until he acknowledged the depths of his feelings for Jemma, he had been a bit baffled in so many stories and movies. Until he knew this woman, he had had never quite understood the crazy things that people did for love. Now he kissed her with the tenderness and passion of a boy suddenly grown, remembering that he had done all those crazy things himself for this woman in his arms. With the refreshing calm and clarity that only her presence could bring him, he knew that he would do them all again, continuing to hold even his own life loosely for the sake of her survival, her thriving, her happiness.

Of course it was at that precise moment that Skye got nostalgic for the old days in her van and decided to snuggle with her laptop into her old refuge in the back of the SUV.

"Wo," she muttered, turning away before she even absorbed the scene before her. "Sorry, I didn't realise this seat was taken!" She slammed the door behind her.

A moment passed, then two, of Fitz and Jemma clutching one another, eyes tightly shut as they waited for the moment of impact.

Skye suddenly stopped. They could hear her through the bullet-proof glass. "Wait… WHAT!?" And a second later the door swung open again. There was nowhere they could hide. First Coulson, now Skye…

"Fitzsimmons?" her face was incredulous.

They could only smile sheepishly back at her.

Skye grinned. "About damn time."


	3. Chapter 3

_Leaving behind my last two AU chapters, this little one-shot stands on its own after "Face My Enemy" and depicts what I would like to see happen in whatever comes next! I suppose that in the meantime there would have to have been be some sort of HYDRA trauma for poor Simmons to go through and then this could be the fallout._

_This story is set straight after S2, E3 in which Fitz declared to Hunter and Mac: "So I don't have an ex, but there was this girl I like and I told her how I felt, but she doesn't feel the same way as I do, so she left." _

_And, of course, I just couldn't leave it at that. I had to do this instead:_

Fitz lay in his bunk on The Bus later that night, dissecting the first "friendly" conversation he'd had with anyone in a long time. Conversations with Hologram Simmons (as he'd come to think of her, inspired by all the _Red Dwarf_ they'd watched back at the Academy) didn't count. Hunter and Mac were nice enough, and it was gratifying to hear Hunter say he'd saved their lives. It just didn't really feel all that triumphant to Fitz…

All he could think about was the confession he'd made in an attempt to join in on the team bonding at Hologram Simmons' behest …_there was this girl I like and I told her how I felt, but she doesn't feel the same way as I do, so she left…_

Firstly, _this girl_. How could he have referred to Simmons so casually? So flippantly? She was no mere girl. She may have loved homework more than life itself and been less than encouraging about his dream of one day owning a pet monkey, but she was his motivation in everything. He was only the boy genius everyone in S.H.I.E.L.D. knew him to be, or at least used to know him to be, because of what her enthusiasm and friendship had brought out in him. At the very least she was his best friend in the world. He couldn't merely reduce her to "this girl I like." But he had no idea as to how to go about rectifying that with Mac and Hunter.

The next bit was more heartbreaking to contemplate …_I told her how I felt, but she doesn't feel the same way as I do…_ There was nothing to be flippant about there either. Not much made sense in his brain the way it used to, but the one memory he held with vivid, three-dimensional, surround-sound accuracy was what had happened between him and Jemma in the moments before he blew the window out of their would-be underwater tomb.

_Why would you make me do this? You're my best friend in the world!  
Yeah, you're more than that, Jemma. I couldn't find the courage to tell you. So, please... let me show you._

She'd embraced him, she'd kissed him over and over, and next thing he knew, she was gone.

…_so she left…_

He nestled into his bunk, drawing his knees up to his chest. Him loving her meant that he could _never_ leave her. So she mustn't love him. If she'd loved him, she'd never have left. He just wished he could know _where _she had gone, what she was doing, if she was safe.

So, yeah, as for moving on as Hunter and Mac suggested? Not a chance. He'd be loving Jemma forever, he didn't even have a choice in the matter. He was a loyal old dog.

He heard his bunk door slide open and then closed. Hologram Simmons was back. He sighed. She wasn't nearly as good as the real thing. In fact, she was getting a bit preachy for his liking.

"Fitz?" she whispered.

"I know you're not really here, Jemma," he shook his head. "So you should just go. I have _got _to stop talking to myself, otherwise I'll never be able to make friends like you're always harping on about."

"Fitz?" she repeated. "It's me."

He rolled over to look at her. Something was different. Her hair was different, it was out of its neat ponytail. Instead it looked sort of wild. And the navy jumper with the little white collar was gone, replaced with a black jacket. Hologram Simmons had changed her outfit! Fitz wondered what that might mean for the state of his brain.

Her face wasn't as composed or as smiley as usual. If anything, Hologram Simmons, standing hesitantly against the door to his bunk, looked positively distraught.

"Fitz, I'm back." Tears began to roll down her face. "Can I…?" she gestured to his bed.

Fitz looked back at her, confused. Hologram Simmons had never wept or tried to climb into his bed before. Was this a good sign or a bad sign? Regardless, he dutifully shuffled over.

Simmons clambered into the bed with him and nestled her head into his shoulder. He wound his arms around her and held her as she wept, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair. It was strange, though a lovely sort of strange, that Hologram Simmons had suddenly become so much more tactile and tangible. He even imagined that he could feel her wet tears on his skin.

"I'm probably losing my mind entirely," he mused to himself, stroking Hologram Simmons' thick hair. "Oh well," he smiled. "At least this is quite nice. There would be much worse ways to go off the deep end."

"You're not losing your mind, Fitz," Hologram Simmons murmured into his neck. "I had to get home, and you're the only home I know."

"You know what, Hologram Simmons?" he said, kissing the top of her head but knowing he was talking to no one but himself. "I think I'm going to let you stay as long as you like tonight. I know you're not her, but this may be the closest I ever get to holding her in my arms like this."

Hologram Simmons let out a sigh that sounded more frustrated than contented. "Fitz!" she cried into his shoulder. "Do you know how heart-breaking it is to be desperately in need and to not even be acknowledged by the person that you love?"

"Yup," he nodded. "I know all about it. Sucks doesn't it."

He suddenly felt a searing pain in his neck. He yelled out.

Hologram Simmons sat up and lent over him as he clapped his hand to the sore spot. Her eyes looked a bit wilder than usual. "Do you know what just happened, Fitz?"

"No," he retorted, rubbing his neck. "But I've changed my mind about you staying!"

"Has Hologram Simmons ever bitten you before?"

"No, come to mention it. She's always been very polite."

"So what do you make of the sudden change?" Hologram Simmons sounded a little bit snippy.

"I don't know!" Fitz shouted, covering his face. "She's not even here! I'm stuck with the best my brain can do at conjuring her up! I don't know anything anymore!"

He felt his head being gently cradled, his hair being stroked away from his forehead. He felt her warm breath as she whispered into his ear. "How am I going to prove to you that it's really me, Fitz? That I'm here and that I need you?"

"When I can see that the others see you," he shrugged, muttering pointlessly to a figment of his imagination.

In an instant, he felt his head drop back on the mattress and heard his bunk door slide open. Hologram Simmons was gone. He found his pillow, pulled his blanket up to his chin and curled back into a ball of self-pity.

About five minutes later, he heard footsteps approaching his bunk. He rolled over and saw that his bunk door was inexplicably open. Coulson stepped into view, followed by Mac and Hunter. Behind them hovered Hologram Simmons, just as she always did.

"Fitz," Coulson began, "At 0300 hours, we intercepted a HYDRA transfer. They were moving an asset that we value extremely highly. Hunter took point and Mac secured the asset." He turned to where Hologram Simmons stood and reached out his arm. She stepped forward.

Fitz blinked in surprise as Coulson held Hologram Simmons' arm, as if she possessed corporeal reality, and addressed him intently. "Fitz? Do you understand me? This _is_ Simmons. She's real. She's safe. We have her back."

Fitz's shock was palpable. He gaped like a goldfish at Coulson and then at Simmons – the _real_ flesh-and-blood Jemma Simmons.

"Fitz?" Coulson demanded. "Simmons has been through a heck of a lot. Right now she needs you. Do you understand me?"

He nodded vigorously, unable to quite find his voice. He held out his hand to Jemma and she took it, grasping his warm fingers with her trembling, icy ones. His eyes sought hers. "You've really come back to me?"

Coulson, Mac and Hunter each took a step or two backwards and then turned to leave them alone.

She smiled a very small, very tentative smile, as if it had been a long time since anything had warranted one. "I said it before but you didn't believe me. Fitz, you are _home_ to me, and home is where I desperately need to be."

Fitz sat back on the bed and Jemma sat next to him, still gripping his hand. "Will you… will you hold me while I sleep, Fitz?" she whispered.

He swallowed hard and nodded. "Can you tell me where you've been?" he asked.

"Not tonight," she shook her head. "And maybe not for a little while. But I do want to tell you everything when I'm ready."

Fitz slid the bunk door closed and then manoeuvred himself into the bed, allowing Jemma plenty of room to lie next to him. Once more she snuggled against him, her head buried in the crook of his neck. Once more he wound his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"There is one thing I have to tell you," she whispered.

"What's that?"

"I never got to tell you before I left."

"Tell me what?" Fitz waited quietly for her to speak, feeling afraid for her, unsure of what she'd been through while they were apart.

"Look at me, Fitz," she whispered, and he shuffled himself back until they both rested their heads on Fitz's pillow, facing one another.

She was so close, and she was real. Fitz couldn't help but beam at her, despite his fears for her well-being. He found her tiny hand again, and reached for the other, holding them both within his large warm hands.

"Being my best friend in the world isn't nothing, you know," she began.

Fitz smiled encouragingly, despite the pang he felt at her words.

"But it isn't _all_ that you are to me."

He wasn't quite sure what to do with his face while she paused before going on.

"I _am_ in love with you, Fitz," she said. "I feel _exactly_ the same way about you that you feel about me."

A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"And when they asked me what I felt I would need for my recuperation," she went on, gently wiping away his tear with the pad of her thumb, "I said that all I wanted was to be with you and to be guaranteed that I would never be required to be parted from you again."

Now that he had finally let them start, his tears flowed unchecked. "That's what I need for my recuperation too!" he half laughed.

"Coulson agreed," she said, smiling. "He said the best work S.H.I.E.L.D. has got from us has been when we've been together."

"So, hang on." Fitz shook his head in disbelief. "What does that mean?"

She laughed for the first time in a very long time. "We're _officially _Fitzsimmons now. We're a S.H.I.E.L.D. sanctioned package deal."

"I never have to be without you again?" he whispered.

"And I never have to be without you," she whispered back. "Like I said, you're my home and I'm home to stay."

Fitz reached out for her, drawing her close. "I love you, Jemma." He chuckled to himself. "There, I said it."


	4. Chapter 4

_So, I can't read any stories, I can't even Google AOS for fear of spoilers - we're a little behind in my part of the world. Last night I finally saw S2E05 - A Hen in the Wolf-House. I can see that next episode there's gonna have to be some Fitzsimmons developments. I don't get the vibe that they're necessarily going to be ones that I'll enjoy. Anyway, far be it from me to discourage anyone from writing reviews, but if you do (and of course I'll love you forever if you do!) PLEASE don't venture out of the bounds of this episode!_

_As for THIS tiny story that you're about to read, I just ignored what we knew about Fitz recently and re-wrote the scene according to my preferences. Remember, this little By My Side project of mine is all about bringing Fitzsimmons together, and I mean TOGETHER, no matter what the cost in actual details of the show!_

Director Coulson was still talking but Jemma was distracted. Through the glass to her right she could see people and movement in the lab but she couldn't see _him_. She looked back at Coulson with enquiring eyes. He nodded his assent. "Go ahead." He turned his attention back to the others. "Agents Triplett, Morse?" Coulson then led the others down the corridor with his usual sure, determined gait. Simmons felt as though she slunk in comparison as the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance. She wasn't sure if she was up to this.

The lab door creaked slightly at her touch but not enough for the sound to be audible over the whirr of machinery. Once she closed the door behind her, she caught sight of an unmistakable sandy blonde head bent studiously over the bench in the far corner, almost concealed by a large glass-fronted refrigerator full of flasks and vials. Her heart rate skyrocketed and her head felt light. He was right there!

Jemma recalled the last time she'd seen him so many months before - a frightened, frustrated, stuttering wreck of a man. How would things be between them now?

She didn't speak but he must have somehow sensed her presence. He turned his head and looked directly at her. Without taking his eyes off her, he straightened up. She could only return his gaze and wait to see what he would do.

The corners of his lips turned up into a grin and Jemma grinned back, unable to recall how long it had been since she'd seen last him smile like that. He moved towards her with a steadiness, a self-possession that she didn't even remember seeing in him before the attempt on their lives.

In an instant he was right there, so close she could breathe him in. His arms folded her against him and one hand was in her newly cropped hair, holding her in a way that only made her heart beat faster. This was Fitz! He wasn't supposed to be the one to make her feel like this. He was her friend, practically her brother! But she couldn't deny it, something had shifted.

Fitz stepped back, still smiling, to drink her in, one hand on her face, the other resting on the small of her back. Something about it, about him, was too much. She didn't quite feel in control. It was a bit like the previous weekend's party at a HYDRA colleague's house – though Coulson had told her to make friends, and she really was trying, all she had managed to do was drink too much champagne. After that she didn't trust herself to talk to anyone. Now, for the first time ever, she didn't entirely trust herself with Fitz. He didn't seem all that brotherly anymore. Suddenly, he seemed somehow really very attractive and she was decidedly giddy.

She leaned towards him and he noticed. She steadied herself with a palm against his chest and he took that in too. Her eyes closed slightly when he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb and he found it highly gratifying. Something unmistakably different was happening between them and he was loving it.

"Hey, Fitz?" a deep voice boomed from the lab doorway, and the pair of them broke apart as if repelled by a sudden magnetic field. "Gimme a hand with this will you?"

Jemma turned to see an enormous man with his back against the door, pushing his way into the lab, pulling some sort of cumbersome trolley behind him.

"Mac," Fitz said as he held the door back to allow his friend through, "_This_ is Jemma."

Mac looked over his shoulder into the lab and saw Jemma standing there. He grinned. "This is _the_ Agent Simmons? That scientist girl you've been moping about ever since I met you?"

Fitz blushed. "Not exactly moping."

Mac raised his eyebrow at Fitz as he held his massive paw out to Jemma. "I'm Mac. Really pleased to meet you."

"You too," Jemma replied, a little pink in the cheeks herself.

"So, what brings you back to our humble lab?" Mac enquired, manoeuvring the trolley into the spot it clearly belonged.

Fitz turned to look at her with the same interested expression.

She smiled and looked at the ground. "Fitz," she replied. "That and the fact that my HYDRA cover was pretty impressively blown." She raised her eyes and found Fitz gazing at her with that distinctly non-brotherly expression.

Mac looked from Simmons to Fitz and back again. "Err, you know what?" he mused. "I think Tripp and Hunter needed me in The Bus for something round about now."

Fitz nodded a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah, I think I remember hearing something about that."

Mac winked at Fitz and then nodded his head toward Jemma. "Good to meet you. Sure we'll get to hang out soon."

"That would be lovely," Jemma called after him as he disappeared out the door and down the corridor.

"So," said Fitz, taking a step towards her, "What were we saying before we were interrupted?"

Jemma grinned. "Actually, I don't think we'd _said_ anything at all."

"Hadn't we?" he asked in a mock-surprised tone, closing the distance between them and taking her once more into his arms. "That's dreadful, that is."

"It was alright by me," she whispered, turning her face up towards him.

Fitz expression grew serious. "I'm better, Jemma. You know that, don't you?"

"I know," she nodded reassuringly, squeezing his arm. "You're amazing, Fitz."

"I can be the man you need me to be now," he offered. "If you'll have me, that is."

Jemma reached up and gripped his tie, just below where his double-windsor met his button-down collar, and yanked him forward so that their lips met with a forceful passion.

When they eventually came up for air, Fitz found his voice. "So that was a yes?" he checked.

She shrugged, grinning. "Oh, I think you'll do nicely."


	5. Chapter 5

_And as I wait impatiently for the next episode to air in my part of the world, I've been entertaining myself dreaming up this little scenario which follows directly on from what you just read in the last chapter. Its only link to "reality" is that Lance Hunter and Bobbi Morse were once husband and wife._

.

Lance Hunter skulked in the darkest corner of the mess hall nursing a deeply unsatisfactory polystyrene cup of something that was _supposed_ to be tea to go with his hangover. He consoled himself with the fact that it was 5am on what would hopefully remain a mission-free Sunday and so it was unlikely that anyone saw him doing the walk of shame after being unceremoniously booted from his ex-wife's bunk. From past experience with these not infrequent alcohol-induced marital reunions, he knew he would only have been laughed at if he so much as suggested they cuddle after. So he curled himself up in the armchair furthest from the kitchen facilities, enjoying the fact that the light bulb above him was out, but otherwise lamenting the poor choices he seemed to continue to make.

After Lance had made it only a third of the way through his dreadful tea, the slap of a bare foot on the polished concrete made him look up. It was Fitz. Looking extremely tousle-haired in his red tartan dressing gown, the eccentric young scientist filled the kettle, clicked it on to boil, retrieved a teapot from somewhere underneath the bench and started spooning proper tea leaves into its cavity. Lance was about to call out to his fellow British citizen for some of the good stuff when it occurred to him that Fitz was whistling. In his limited experience of the young Scot, whistling was quite out of character. He watched a little longer in silence. Fitz had found a tray, filled a milk jug and then left Lance wondering if the poor kid was losing it again – he'd placed not one but _two_ bone china teacups and saucers next to the pot.

The kettle was drawing noisily near to the boil so Lance almost didn't hear the entrance of a third person. It was a young woman he didn't recognise. She was very attractive, with gleaming, shoulder-length chocolate brown hair and she wore blue and white striped pyjamas for whom, it took very little of his powers of deduction to determine, she was clearly not the target demographic. Lance sunk a little deeper into his chair to avoid detection.

The woman wandered right up to Fitz and Lance almost choked on his tea when he saw her press herself against Fitz's tartan-clad back and wind her arms around his waist.

"Good morning," she murmured, placing a kiss on the back of his neck. "I got a bit of a fright when I woke up alone just now!"

Sequestered in his dark hiding spot, Lance felt his jaw drop open.

"I thought maybe you'd be in the lab but it seems we both made a beeline for the same thing," she continued, laughing.

"Did you really think I would just wander off to the lab after the night we've just had?" asked Fitz grinning, incredulous in his thick accent. He turned, gathering her into his arms, and kissed her tenderly before noticing her apparel. "Wow. I'm pretty sure the stripey jammies Mum sent me have never looked this good!"

She obliged him with a little twirl.

He went on, reaching for the freshly boiled kettle. "Anyway, I was _trying_ to bring you a cup of tea in bed."

"Oh, that's so sweet of you, Fitz," the woman cooed.

He laughed as he tipped the steaming water into the teapot. "Well, it wasn't _only_ for your benefit. It was a bit of wish fulfilment on my part too."

"How so, Fitz?"

"You'll laugh at me."

She grinned. "Aren't I always laughing at you?"

"That's true, isn't it," he nodded, smiling. "Well, I've kept up this sort of daydream for ages now. I suppose it came to me around the time I first realised I was in love with you."

Lance's eyes widened. This must be Agent Jemma Simmons, Coulson's source within HYDRA. Well, that explained more than Bobbi would ever have told him herself. But it was nice to see that his fragile new friend _was_ requited by this scientist girl after all. Fitz seemed to have better luck than he was having.

"Ooh, really? A daydream about me, Fitz? Tell me all about it," she urged, wrapping her arms around him once more.

He shook his head, grinning sheepishly. "Well, there's not much to it really," he shrugged. "I guess lots of other chaps would dwell on what happens beforehand but, for me, I've wasted hours, Jemma, _hours_, dreaming about coming back to my bunk early in the morning with tea, just like this. The sun is coming up and starting to stream in the window but you're still curled up asleep in my bed with one arm resting on top of the sheet." As he went on in his lilting storytelling tone, Fitz stroked Jemma's hair back from her forehead. "Your hair is gleaming in the pale sunlight and the skin of your bare shoulders glows against the navy sheets. You stir a little as I slide the bunk door closed and your eyes flicker open. You smile at me and stretch a little before you prop yourself up with a pillow against the wall, sitting cross-legged with the sheet folded across your chest. I pour you a cup of tea and plonk myself cross-legged in front of you on the bed so that our knees are touching." He chuckled to himself "The tray is resting on that little table next to the bed so we can keep filling our cups and we talk and we laugh and we kiss until, at last, we have to get up." Fitz looked down, embarrassed. "Imagining that, imagining you and I together like that, has pretty much kept me going all this time you've been gone."

Hidden in his shadowy spot, Lance wiped away a little tear. Looking back over at the pair by the bench he saw that Fitz's story had had the same effect on Jemma.

"Anyway," Fitz shook his head, placing one hand on the teapot and making as if to pour a cup.

Jemma reached out a hand to stop him, shaking her head emphatically. "No way," she said. "We're not drinking tea in this dingy old mess after _that_."

A smile slowly spread across Fitz's features.

"Give me a thirty second head-start. I'll throw these pyjamas of yours back on the floor where I found them and you'll find me asleep in your bed exactly as you described," she said over her shoulder, already half way out the door.

Lance could only watch as Fitz leant back against the bench a while, eyes closed, biting his lip, his posture one of blissful anticipation. He then watched the younger man flick his eyes to the clock and then to the door before carefully lifting the laden tray and padding out the door with it.

He momentarily pondered how it would be received if he tried to do the same for Bobbi. He imagined her breathing fire and burning him to a crisp. Perhaps he'd be more careful with his heart on the next go round.

He grinned to himself. He may have been having a spectacularly crappy morning, but he knew that Fitz was having the time of his life. With tea for goodness sake. That kid clearly needed to get out more…


	6. Chapter 6

_SPOILER ALERT After the events of S2E6, would any of you be surprised to hear that the latest instalment of my little By My Side project (in which I was TRYING to find a way to get Fitzsimmons together, and I mean TOGETHER at the end of each episode of S2) doesn't exactly fit the Romance/Comedy categories?_

_._

Jemma Simmons could not sleep. She couldn't even tell which loomed larger in her mind, the words she heard coming out of her own mouth with which she promised to kill Grant Ward? Or the accusation from Fitz that struck to the heart of her deepest confusion and shame – her leaving him alone, giving up on him.

The two were linked, of course. Grant Ward had written himself indelibly into her story, into Fitz's story, and, in doing so, perhaps struck out forever the little burgeoning bud of a story that entwined the two of them together beyond the bounds of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the lab. She wiped away a tear. She had loved that little bud of a story and still kept it well-tended in the quiet spaces of her imagination. It had been the deepest desire of her heart that she would return to find Fitz his old self again and that the two of them could pick up where they left off – that he loved her, that she loved him, that they weren't trapped in a box at the bottom of the sea.

And for that reason, she knew that what she said to Ward was no empty threat. He had robbed from her, perhaps forever, the thing she held most dear.

As if she didn't have enough haunting her, she couldn't quite leave behind the disquieting effect of what Mac had said to her either. _The only thing that makes him worse is you. _His words had echoed Fitz's pain and caused it to reverberate inside her. How could she ever forgive herself for taking what, at the time, seemed the only possible course of action? How could she have walked away from him? And worse of all – had she stayed, would he have recovered? Would he have returned to his old self? Would she have been sleeping in his arms tonight instead of lying awake, so intensely alone?

Mac seemed to suggest that it was her very longing for her old friend that was the source of the problem. But she doubted if it was even in her power to stop wanting him back. Was Fitz right? Could she just not accept that he was different now? _That guy you're wishing he would be._ He had still found the intel they needed, he still saw and understood what no one else saw. There was so much of the old him still there. But maybe Mac was right. Maybe she needed to start again, to get to know this different Fitz and learn to love him for who he was now.

She rolled over and looked at the clock. Neon green digits, 0345, blinked back at her. She sat up. There was no point continuing with this sleep charade any longer. She needed tea. She shrugged on her navy hooded robe and padded down to the mess.

Steaming teacup in her hand at last, she wandered the empty corridors of the base. As if drawn there, she found herself outside the door of the cell she had looked into every morning from the safety of surveillance cameras. Now it lay empty. She took a deep breath. Nothing to fear.

She pushed the door open. No electronic locks held it fast. She walked slowly down the staircase, her eyes on her tea. She almost couldn't believe she'd really find the cell empty.

It wasn't.

On the floor, leaning cross-legged against the chair facing the cell that once contained Ward, sat Fitz. She hesitated. She almost turned on her heels and left but something compelled her to stay. He didn't turn to look but he seemed to know that she was there. She padded down the stairs and slipped into the seat beside him. Without speaking she offered him her cup. He took it silently and drank before handing it back.

"Fitz?" she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't move.

"Can you forgive me?"

He stayed perfectly still a moment longer, then gave a slight nod.

She slid out of the chair and sat beside him on the floor, seeking his eyes. "I just want to be with you, Fitz. That's all."

He looked up at her a moment, surprised, hopeful. Then his face fell. "But, Jemma, I'm not who I was."

"You don't have to be," she whispered, reaching over to take his hand in hers. "Just be who you are."

"And you'll stay?" Fitz had lost even his limited ability to guard his emotions. All his vulnerability was etched into his face.

She squeezed his hand. "I'll be right here."

.

_Sorry, not even an attempt to be funny at the end here. It seems to me that the further we go on with this season, the less likely it'll be that we'll ever see what I'm hoping for! Anyway, let me know what you think - who doesn't love reviews, right? And please, if you do review, no spoilers! I've seen nothing after this episode!_


	7. Chapter 7

_After a little bit more thought, the road to a happily-ever-after for Fitzsimmons from the end of S2E6 didn't seem quite so impossible to imagine after all. So ignore what you read in the last chapter and rewind your imagination back to the end of the actual "A Fractured House" episode. This chapter is yet another crack at securing a happy ending for our beloved nerds…_

_._

Fitz was never more conscious of how much time he spent curled up with Hologram Simmons than in the heart-pounding moments that the real flesh-and-blood Jemma wandered into the lab. It was like he forgot (though of course he didn't) each time she turned and walked out, that she was back, that she was home, that she was real. Hologram Simmons, with her wily illusion of comforting pressure on his shoulder, was, as she kept reminding him, a manifestation of his own subconscious, nothing more than a daydream. And of course he _knew_ that, it was _his_ subconscious after all, but a comforting habit is a hard one to break.

He and Hologram Simmons were just in the midst of discussing something or other about the activities of the growing team when the lab door opened and there she was – the real thing – carrying two cups of tea. As per usual, his heart started hammering and he had that familiar and yet no less striking sensation that his stomach had dropped to somewhere in the region of his knees.

Jemma made her way towards him, placed the tea cups down and pulled up a chair – so close, he noticed as she sat, that her knee rested against his. Whatever subtlety he once possessed was gone, he couldn't help but stare at it, but she stood her ground. The two of them busied themselves drinking tea for a moment before Jemma spoke.

"Yesterday you said you needed someone to talk through what happened," she said, resting her teacup on the bench. "Do you want to do that now?"

Fitz contemplated her offer. Of all the people he spent any time with, he knew he was at his worst with Jemma. He knew why too. It was because no one made him want to be quick and smart and funny and dazzling more than her. And when all of the effort it took for him to simply form a sentence was being channelled into trying to form it wittily, he got tied in knots. And the knots only got more tangled because he could see how much he was worrying her. He could see the tears shining in her eyes when he got flustered. He knew that she despaired for him. And all he wanted her to do was love him.

The frustration and pain of it all overwhelmed him. He could feel the hot tears spilling down his cheeks but he was powerless to stop them. And then Jemma did the strangest and yet most obvious thing. She reached out her hand and placed it on his shoulder. He instinctively placed his hand on top of hers. Then the floodgates opened. He was sobbing.

Jemma took his hand and led him out of the lab. He followed her blindly. Down winding corridors and up flights of stairs they went until she pushed open a heavy door and led Fitz out into the bright sunshine. He wiped his eyes on the cuffs of his cardigan and squinted around as he adjusted to the light.

They were on the roof. She led him to a corner of the roof top and sat down, leaning against the brickwork of the barrier and patting the ground next to her. Fitz sat dutifully and she immediately took hold of his hand.

"Fitz, this is complicated for me. Will you hear me out?"

He nodded, bracing himself for the inevitable, devastating impact he'd been expecting ever since she returned, of her telling him she was leaving him for good.

"When I see you struggling, you think you know what I'm thinking." She paused a moment. "But you don't."

He looked back at her sceptically.

"You think I'm mourning for the old you, don't you?"

There was no hope of him hiding his desperate desire to hear her contradict that deep-seated conviction. And yet he felt utterly unable to believe anything else. He nodded.

Jemma sighed. "Fitz, I know that having me around seems to make you worse."

_Here it comes_, he thought. He shrugged, keeping his red eyes focused on the paving stones in front of him.

"And I think I know why."

He turned to face her, intrigued to hear what she'd say.

"Fitz, all the things you said to me, all the things you accused me of – that I've given up on you, that I think you're useless, that I can't accept that you're different – they're not really about me, are they?" she asked gently. "That's not what's going on in my head, and I think you know it."

He shifted uncomfortably but heard in her words a speck of hope he could cling onto.

"I think I'm the one you find it hardest to spend time with because you don't let _yourself _just be who you are with me. You said that _I_ can't accept that you've changed but I think it's _you_ that's struggling to accept it. And I think you get flustered in front of me because we've been partners for so long and you think it affects me more than the others. _You_ want to be your old self and you're afraid that I'll reject you now that you're not."

Jemma was so characteristically astute in her analysis that Fitz didn't know whether it was agony to have been so thoroughly seen through or relief to have been so compassionately understood. His tears fell afresh.

"I only left you because I was following orders. Coulson could see the effect that I had on you and we thought that maybe you'd be better without me for a while, maybe you'd be able to learn to adapt better without the added pressure you were placing on yourself to be your old self."

She placed her other hand over his and held it tight. "Fitz,' she continued gently, "Of all the people you should feel totally safe with, it should be me, shouldn't it? We've chosen to spend every day together, since that very first day we met at the Academy – don't you remember?"

He nodded, allowing himself a tiny smile.

"I would never agree to be parted from you for good, you know," she grinned. "You won't get rid of me that easily."

Just hearing those words from her healed his heart. All of a sudden, the relief of being so transparent far outweighed the agony. But Jemma hasn't said all she had to say.

She continued so quietly, he almost couldn't hear her. "I see the cost of what you did for me, Fitz," she said, her face now wet with tears. "I haven't forgotten that you were ready to sacrifice your life for mine." She paused, squeezing his hand again. "I could never forget what it feels like to be loved like that."

He looked up sharply.

She smiled at him through her tears. "I'm actually sort of hoping to be loved like that for the rest of my life."

Fitz wasn't sure he knew what he was hearing. He found his voice at last. "Have you… um…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Have you got a shortlist of potentials then?"

Jemma nodded. "It's an extremely short list."

"It is?"

"Fitz," she whispered, turning to look at him. "It's you."

"Brilliant," he breathed, almost dizzy with amazement. This was not at all where he had predicted the conversation going.

He felt her gaze on him. She was right there. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, trying to navigate the 180 degree about-turn from rejected best-friend to romantic hero. He glanced sideways. She was smiling sweetly back at him. He thought he could probably manage it.

Fitz turned to face her. "Hi," he said.

She giggled. "Hi, Fitz."

He glanced down at her lips. He did happen to have a very large back catalogue of daydreams that dwelt on a wide range of variations on this very scenario. He took a deep breath. He could probably harness some of that for a moment like this.

He couldn't tell if it were just his imagination or if Jemma really did move a little closer. Either way, there was a new inevitability at play. He wasn't going to be dumped. He was going to be _kissed_. It would have to have been the best turn up for the books in the history of anything. Other than perhaps the Ice Age. He shook his head. No, this was no time for science. He decided he wouldn't say that out loud. Jemma would argue that it was _always_ time for science and there'd be a risk that the exciting kissing possibility would be derailed, just when it was humming along so nicely.

Jemma saw Fitz shake his head and wondered what exactly it was that was going on in there. In the past she would have bet money on her ability to read his mind but now she couldn't be quite sure. It was a little bit refreshing to find him suddenly unpredictable. Whatever it was, though, she was determined that they weren't leaving that rooftop without a kiss. She leaned a tiny bit closer.

This time, he caught her at it. He harnessed all of his courage and leant forward too.

Their lips met with a tentative softness. It felt like finally letting go of a breath they'd each been holding for as long as they could remember.

Jemma smiled at Fitz's blissful expression.

He opened his eyes slowly. "I had been so sure that I would never find out what it was like to kiss you, Jemma," he whispered. "Every man in the world must be in love with you!"

"That's highly doubtful, Fitz!" she laughed. "But even if it were true, it'd still only be you that I'd want."

Fitz beamed. Then, without warning, he suddenly leapt to his feet and held out his hand to Jemma. She allowed him to help her to her feet. He pulled her close, as he had in his daydreams, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her soundly, winding a hand into her hair.

"Oh, Fitz," she giggled, as they broke apart. "I feel quite weak at the knees!"

"You do?" he asked, surprised and delighted.

"Actually, now that you ask, I'm not quite sure." She looked at him cheekily. "Kiss me again?"

He grinned, taking her once more into his arms. "Whatever you say, Simmons."


	8. Chapter 8

**WARNING: SERIOUS SPOILERS FOR S2E10! **_After "Ye Who Enter Here" and "What They Become" I feel a glimmer of hope is in the air for our beloved nerds. The fact that I'm fixated on them when they are clearly not the focus of the plot right now just goes to show the depth of my devotion and hopefully goes some way to explaining why I must continue to write stuff like what follows. We catch a glimpse of Fitz and Jemma clinging to one another in the dying moments of the episode. Here's what I like to think might happen next. _

_Be warned: I felt that this was getting pretty cheesy so I went the whole hog and turned it into a By My Side Fitzsimmons Christmas Special mid-way through. I hope that lets me off the hook for the total shift in mood that suddenly surprises (and probably horrifies) you._

It hadn't escaped Fitz's attention that though they had initially clung to one another in that Oh No, We're About To Die sort of a way, an hour later, finally walking safely up the ramp of The Bus with all present and accounted for bar the tragic loss of Tripp, Jemma still held tightly on to him and seemed to require him to reciprocate. Despite the hammering of his heart reminding him how much his whole being revelled in her closeness, he was starting to feel a little self-conscious now the others were gathered around. He was sure he'd even seen Mack wink at him.

What a relief it was to see Mack alive, returned to his old self. But what a wrench to watch a distraught Skye trying to explain the circumstances of Tripp's death to the team. Fitz had seen Tripp as a threat from the start, but the guy had grown on him. How could he blame Tripp for simply loving the same amazing woman that he loved? And in a way, he owed Tripp a debt of gratitude. Fitz knew that without being shocked into jealousy by Tripp's open flirtation with Jemma, he might never have admitted his true feelings to himself, let alone to her.

Why was it always the near death experiences that threw them together? he found himself musing. Was this just going to be another moment he'd look back on with longing once reality had settled back in? Well, there was no point in being self-protective, he reflected. He'd put it all out there and there was no going back – if Jemma needed him, he would be there for her until she didn't need him any longer.

He felt her hesitate as they entered the body of the plane. Fitz determined to lead her to her bunk. He knew she'd be exhausted after all they'd been through. Her body relaxed as he moved them forward, trusting herself to his confident lead. What a reversal, he thought to himself. He who had been so reliant on others for direction for so long, being lent on and needed by Jemma of all people.

As they approached her bunk he finally felt he needed to face the truth. What he was seeing in Jemma's behaviour here had very little to do with him. For all he knew, Tripp and Jemma had secretly been together all this time. For all he knew, this semi-catatonic state she was in was due to her grief at the loss of her lover or at least someone she'd hoped might someday be. How would he broach it with her? How could he communicate to her that he was there for her anyway, as long as she needed him? How could he ensure she knew that he wasn't in it for himself?

He stopped outside the black glass sliding door of her bunk and waited. She didn't move.

"Do you want me to open the door for you?" he asked gently.

She nodded.

He disentangled himself from her embrace to get his good arm free so that he could slide open the heavy door. All the parts of his body that she'd been pressed against felt suddenly cold. He stood to one side so that she could enter. She didn't move.

"Jemma?" he whispered.

She raised her eyes to his.

"Can I get you anything? Can I do anything for you?"

She contemplated him a moment.

"Well… Goodnight," he started to say, stepping backwards, but she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Fitz," she whispered urgently, the first sound he'd heard her make in what seemed like eons. "Stay?"

He was sure he'd misheard her. He looked back at her uncertainly.

"Will you stay with me?" she repeated. "Please, Fitz?"

He glanced quickly over each shoulder to see if anyone was watching. It seemed ludicrous to him that he was even conscious of anything but Jemma, but he didn't want anyone to think that Tripp didn't matter to him. He looked into her pleading eyes. Jemma mattered more.

He nodded, gesturing for her to go in ahead of him. "Of course."

She fleetingly shot him a grateful smile and slipped into the bunk.

Their quarters were relatively cramped on the bus. They each had room for a narrow bed, a built-in table with drawers and some overhead storage space for clothes and personal effects. Jemma's bunk spent a long time empty during her stint with HYDRA and she had only just moved back. In contrast to Jemma's stark living quarters, Fitz's well lived-in bunk was a pigsty. He had diagrams and notes scribbled on scraps of paper and stuck all over his walls, most of his clothes lay on the floor – all cardigans – his bedside table was covered in used teacups and he was fairly sure he'd lost a plate of toast and marmalade in there sometime in the last week.

Jemma plonked herself onto the bed and Fitz, after sliding the door closed and hesitating a moment, sat himself down next to her. She immediately rested her body weight back against him, resuming the posture the two of them had held most of the afternoon. Before his brain kicked in and stopped him, Fitz's reflex was to wrap his arms back around her and hold her once more against him. She sighed, almost contentedly.

Fitz thought it was probably as good a time as any to have his heart completely crushed. "I should have realised that you and Tripp were together, Jemma. I'm so sorry that he's gone."

She shook her head.

Fitz didn't want to invite her to talk about her feelings for Tripp. He didn't want to know anything about it. But he did want to be there for her. There was a long silence.

"All the thoughts swirling around in my head are abominable," she whispered suddenly. "I couldn't trust myself with the others tonight – I'd be bound to blurt it all out."

"You can say anything you want to me, you know," Fitz offered.

"Well, you have to hear it," she said matter-of-factly, turning to look into his eyes. "And I know I can trust you."

Fitz steeled himself to hear all about Tripp.

"You're going to be horrified."

"I won't Jemma. It's ok."

She looked unconvinced but charged ahead. "You know what I thought when I heard that Tripp was dead?"

"What did you think?"

She looked down. "I thanked the God I don't even believe in for what Ward did to you."

Her words hit him like a knife. He stiffened, loosening his hold on her.

She turned and saw the hurt shock on his face. She started explaining, the words pouring out of her. "Fitz, I know that if you had been fully confident in your abilities, and you heard that Skye and Coulson were down in those tunnels, you would have disappeared back down there with Tripp to disarm the explosives." A sob escaped her. "We wouldn't just be mourning for him tonight, we'd be mourning for you too, and my heart would be broken."

It took a moment for the implication of her words to filter through his initial hostility. "But I thought you…"

"I was never in love with him, Fitz."

"You weren't?"

She looked down at her hands. "Tripp was an amazing man, and, of course, I'm devastated that he's gone, but losing him has made me realise how much I couldn't survive losing you."

"We've been through this before, remember?" Fitz smiled sadly. "I'm your best friend in the world."

Jemma shook her head, smiling. "You're more than that, Fitz."

He looked back at her, hearing the echo in her words, but not fully computing their meaning.

"I told Bobbi just this morning that I was confused, that when you said those words to me I'd never thought of you beyond who you were as my friend but that I couldn't imagine my life without you."

Fitz smiled hopefully.

"We lost Tripp only hours ago and in those hours, some things have become very clear. I know now that losing _you_ would kill me, and not just because I'd be losing my best friend. If it had been you…" Jemma broke down at the thought, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing.

"Shhh, Jemma," Fitz whispered, stroking her hair. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I don't want you to be a hero, Fitz. And I don't want you to go to the garage. I want you with me, leading the Science Division. I need you there. We can still work together. We did this morning, remember?"

"Hang on, Jemma," Fitz interjected. "Can we just go back a step?"

"Back to when I told you I was in love with you too?" She twinkled at him through her tears.

"So that _was_ what happened just then?" he asked, smiling.

Jemma nodded. "I loved Tripp like a brother, but realising my feelings for him were sisterly meant I had to work out how to understand my feelings for you." She looked away a moment. "My feelings for you _aren't_ sisterly, Fitz."

Fitz didn't fail to catch the intriguing emphasis on the word "aren't" – he looked forward to experiencing how that might work itself out in practice.

They were already wrapped tightly in one another's arms. Leaning in so that their lips could meet was the easiest, most natural thing in the world, though the simplicity of the movement couldn't hope to minimise the fireworks that exploded in each of their nervous systems.

The biologist in Jemma was utterly unprepared for the rush that was her first personal experience of oxytocin. Even Fitz, who'd been in touch with his feelings for so long, was stunned by the intensity of the sensation of finally getting to kiss her. He felt almost drunk with it.

But the pain of losing one of their own forced them back into reality. The sadness on the plane permeated the entire atmosphere. They broke apart.

Fitz stroked her face. "I better just go and see if anyone needs us for anything, hey?"

Jemma nodded. "But if they don't," she added, "Remember that I need you here."

Fitz smiled. "I'm not very likely to forget that, am I?"

"Do you think Tripp would be happy for us, Fitz?" Jemma asked.

Fitz shook his head. "If I were him and I had to see you in someone else's arms, "happy" would not be the word I would choose." He thought for a moment. "But if I were him, and there was any sort of afterlife in which I'd be conscious of what was going on here, I'd like to think that I'd be happy to see you happy, however it came about."

"Well, as you've probably gleaned," Jemma sighed, "I am the most mixed-up mess of emotion right now, mainly because I feel guilty about how deliriously happy I feel."

Fitz chuckled. "I second that emotion."

Jemma looked at him quizzically.

"Sorry, that was a little hard to take seriously, wasn't it?"

She nodded, grinning.

"Speaking of things that are a little hard to take seriously, have you noticed today's date?"

Jemma rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't have picked you as the sentimental type, Fitz. Surely we can worry about when to celebrate our anniversary later."

Fitz chuckled. "I hadn't given even a thought to anniversaries! I like the idea of it though." He punched a few buttons on his eighties-style computer watch and held it out to her. "No, look.!" He was showing her the calendar function. "What I meant was, it's the 24th December."

"Christmas Eve!" Jemma breathed.

"Precisely," he nodded, smiling.

She looked suddenly miffed.

"What is it?"

"I've never had a boyfriend before, let alone a boyfriend on Christmas Eve. Had I known, I would have showered you with gifts."

Fitz smirked. "I'm suddenly a boyfriend, am I? And _your_ boyfriend at that. That's more than enough of a gift for me, Jemma. Perhaps if we get to have one of those anniversaries you mentioned, you can shower me with gifts next year?"

Jemma beamed. "And I have all this time to plan!"

Fitz stretched himself out on Jemma's bed, resting his arms behind his head. "I can't see S.H.I.E.L.D. caring how many shopping days there are til Christmas, can you? How else did we get to Christmas Eve without even noticing?"

Jemma snuggled herself next to him. "I suppose you're right. We're too busy trying to avoid death and destruction to even get to the sales."

Fitz was silent for a moment, then he sat up. "I better just go and see…"

Jemma nodded. "See, I told you there were terrible thoughts swirling around in my head. I'd better not come with you."

Fitz maneuvered himself off the bed and made as if to slide the door open but seemed to think better of it. He turned back and kneeled beside her. He stroked a strand of hair away from her face. "I can't believe you love me, Jemma."

She smiled. "I do, though. Quite passionately."

He leant forward and kissed her. "And you already know that I love you," he murmured against her lips. "That's been out there for a while now."

"But I don't mind hearing it again," she murmured back. "You should probably tell me every hour or so."

He chuckled. "I thought I was the one with the memory issues."

She gave him an affectionate shove. "That is _not_ why you should keep telling me."

"I know," he whispered, smiling. "I'll need you to tell me every hour or so too." He got to his feet and then leaned down to place a soft kiss on her forehead. "I'll be back soon."

"With tea?"

He nodded emphatically. "Absolutely. With tea."

"And see if Skye needs me, won't you?"

"I think I saw her follow May and Coulson to his office," Fitz replied. "And anyway," he grinned, "_I_ need you, remember?"

"Are you going to tell the others about it being Christmas Eve?" Jemma asked, her face uncertain.

Fitz thought for a moment and then shook his head. "I don't think it's really the time, do you?"

"Probably not." She suddenly found herself humming the tune of a carol. She had been quite a good singer at school. The words came unbidden.

_A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices,_

_For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn._

_Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices!_

_Oh night divine, Oh night, when Christ was born._

_Oh night divine, Oh night, Oh holy night._

Fitz squeezed her hand. "Maybe it's just the right time."

FIN

_Well, have a lovely Christmas, all! May you know that thrill of hope in this weary world, and rejoice!_

_Not sure how long I can keep up this sorry pastime. I think this story is in definite decline. There are only so many ways these two can get together without me just cutting and pasting one story straight into the next! Let's hope the writers will take over and do the hard work of getting them together for me and letting me off the hook! ;)_


	9. Chapter 9

_WARNING: Spoilers for S2E10. I read that there would be no more AOS on my telly til MARCH. I got cross. I threw a thing or two. Then I took a deep breath and sat down to channel my emotions into this. This is Part I of what somehow already has five more parts to come. It's got a little plot and everything! I'm quite proud. Let me know if you like it coz there's a fair bit of editing to do before the next parts are publishable._

It started so organically that none of them could quite put their finger on it. Every night now for weeks, maybe months. If they'd let themselves prod at it, poke at it, analyse it, they'd have been able to trace it back to the night they lost Trip and the night Skye received her "gift". But it was too precious for prodding and poking and it felt too fragile for analysis. No one dared to mention it or even to make assumptions about it continuing in the privacy of their own mind. And yet, every night, on and around the couches in the The Bus lounge, they would gather. Sometimes May, rarely Coulson, but always Mack and Fitz, Skye and Jemma, Bobbi and Hunter. They would trickle in, provided their wasn't a mission, any time after ten and just sit. Sometimes they'd sit in companionable silence, nursing a drink, sometimes there'd be rowdy arguments or raucous laughter. But always they gathered to be together, like a family connecting over an evening meal.

For Mack, it was a chance to unwind. It helped Bobbi and Hunter to keep seeing one another as human beings, softening them towards one another. For Skye, it was balm to her hurting heart – these people were safe and they loved her and knew how much she needed them to show it. For Fitz and Jemma, it was a daily sighting of the other, sometimes with the added bonus of an exchanged glance or even a brief conversation now that they worked in separate settings. For all of them, including May and Coulson when they could be there, it was the calm at the end of the day that interrupted the pressure or the urgency or the fear or the intensity of focus and allowed them the possibility of eventually falling into sleep.

Fitz, still feeling awkward and uncertain about exactly how he fitted into the team these days, had stumbled into the habit of hanging back, pottering in the garage a little longer than really necessary in order to be sure that a quorum had gathered before he would show his face. Things with Jemma were easier than they had been for a long time but he still felt unsure of his footing – uncertain if an attempt at more contact between them would be entirely welcome to her. As irritating as it he found it, his movements around her were still a source of deep anxiety.

Usually he'd wander in once conversation was well-established, make a beeline to the kettle and then plonk himself, tea in hand, next to Mack where there always seemed to be a spot for him. From the safety of that position he would tentatively enter into the banter or observe the argument, stealing occasional glances across the lounge that went unnoticed by no one. But one night, having been summoned to Coulson's office for a late night engineering conversation, Fitz found himself standing with the director at The Bus' galley kitchen far earlier than he found entirely comfortable. He was safe on one level – Coulson kept up a steady stream of questions – and yet on another level he felt utterly at sea. How would the evening progress? How would he know how to choose his seat? Should he make his excuses and duck back to the garage for another half hour? Coulson didn't look like he'd let him get away that easily, so Fitz busied himself with dangling a tea bag into a mug while he fielded the increasingly complex queries. He could have laughed out loud at his own brain, effortlessly distilling staggering complexities into layman's terms for Coulson, while simultaneously running a constant stream of self-deprecating self-analysis and playing host to a vigorous anxiety attack.

_Why can't I just channel all this into being a normal chap for once in my life?_ he mused to himself while drawing a diagram to aid Coulson's understanding. Behind him, Jemma and Skye wandered into the lounge. Skye saw that Coulson had made an unexpected appearance and took the opportunity to grab him for a second, to ask for his input on a recent 084 development the team had been monitoring. And, just as he'd feared, Fitz was left with only his tea bag to focus on.

Jemma walked directly up to him. "Hi Fitz," she said chirpily. "How are you?"

Fitz scratched the back of his neck. "Err, fine thanks." He looked up to find her looking stunning as usual. He took a moment to recover his breath before stammering, "Um.. you?"

"Actually," she began conspiratorially, "I'm glad to find you here. I need your advice about something."

"Oh?" Fitz brightened. "What can I help you with?"

"We've hit a roadblock with our analysis of The Diviner," Jemma sighed. "We're using that modified spectrometer that we built back at the academy but something's off with one of the sampling accessories. I'd really love your input."

"Go ahead," Fitz agreed readily.

To the untrained ears of the team, who wandered unnoticed up to the bench around them, the conversation had descended into rapid-fire unintelligible scientific lingo. The intimate audience of observers exchanged meaningful glances across the lounge behind them. To Skye, Coulson and May, this was the sound of the early days on The Bus, Fitzsimmons in full swing. To Mack, Bobbi and Lance it was a revelation, none of them had yet seen Fitz communing with Simmons over science like this.

Oblivious to their eavesdroppers, Fitz and Simmons thrust and parried theories, counter theories, tests and solutions off the top of their heads at a speed that made the others' heads swim. At last it seemed they came to an agreement on a course of action for Jemma and the lab team.

"Thanks, Fitz," she sighed. "I knew you were the only one who could help me work that through."

Fitz quickly turned his attention back to his dangling tea bag.

Jemma reached into the overhead locker for a mug of her own. "Remember those pots of tea you used to make us when we had to work through the night?"

Fitz laughed. "And the one for early morning, the one for morning tea," he counted on his fingers, "the one with lunch, the afternoon tea one, the pre-dinner pot and the one for before bed?"

"Goodness!" replied Jemma, surprised. "You used to make us _that_ much tea?"

"Well," said Fitz, focusing his attention on pouring milk into the mug in front of him. "It just seemed to help you whenever we got stuck, remember? We'd hit a wall, I'd make a pot of tea, you'd just hold the cup in your hands and think for a moment and suddenly you'd have solved it." He bent down to put the milk back in the fridge. "Truth be told, I'm not sure I ever saw you actually drink it!"

"Of course I drank it," Jemma laughed, nudging him with her elbow as he straightened up. "And of course it helped. I've told you before, there's something about the way you make a pot of tea. It's…"

"Pretty ordinary?" interjected Fitz.

"No! It's positively… _medicinal_," she breathed.

Fitz looked quietly chuffed.

"Maybe one of these nights you could make us a pot?" she asked, almost shyly.

Fitz nodded, smiling. "Anything you say, Simmons."


	10. Chapter 10

Part II (of a story that starts in Chapter 9 of By My Side)

Fitz was a giant Scottish ball of self-loathing. _How much more positive an encounter_, he muttered to himself. _How much more specific an invitation_, he fumed, _will I bloody-well need before I finally get up there early enough to make the pot of tea she explicitly asked me to make her?_

At least a week had gone by. Maybe two. But every evening after Mack downed tools and headed up to the lounge, Fitz was still left pottering as though his life depended on it. He felt awkward and uncertain. He felt nervous and panicky, just as he had every day since their talk. _Which, if anything_, he shouted internally at himself, _SHOULD have given me exactly the courage I need to go and bloody-well do it!_

Each morning, especially that first one, he resolved to get up to the lounge early and start brewing the pot of tea. By midday he would have butterflies, by three his palms would be clammy, by seven he'd feel nauseous and by nine-thirty each evening he'd have found a fiddly and unnecessary task with which to busy himself until what he'd come to refer to in the quiet of his own mind as _Coward Hour_.

At Coward Hour he could slip in and take his usual place next to Mack without a moments hesitation. He could still glance over at Jemma, smile at her apologetically, even make conversation, but he hoped that the implication of his late arrival was that there was so much work to be done that sadly he was too late again for that promised brew.

By now it was eight-thirty. Mack was upstairs being briefed about some mission specs. _Surely_, he thought, _tonight will be the night_. He slammed down his screwdriver and the impact reverberated in the empty garage.

"How hard is it to make her a fecking pot of tea, you pasty Glaswegian basket-case!?" he cried aloud.

"That's what I've been wondering," said an unmistakeable voice behind him. "Though not the pasty Glaswegian part."

Fitz spun to face the garage door. Jemma was standing there, grinning cheekily at him.

"Oh… er… um…," Fitz rubbed the back of his neck, desperately searching for a decent explanation for his outburst.

Thankfully, Jemma charged ahead as if she'd heard nothing at all. "I'm so glad to find you're still here, Fitz," she began. "I need your help."

"You do?" he blinked. And somehow, finding himself needed, his nerves fell away.

She held out her palm. Right in the centre sat a tiny processor from one of the many machines she and Fitz had invented and built together. "It's on the fritz, Fitz," she giggled.

Fitz grinned at her as he reached out to take the offending piece of hardware from her hand. "Ah," he mused. "This little bugger."

"Precisely," Jemma nodded. "Remember how much trouble it used to give us?"

"Didn't we almost blow up our lab getting this thing right?"

"At least once," she agreed.

Fitz ambled over to his workspace and fished about for the tools he needed. Jemma pulled up Mack's wheelie chair and sat companionably next to him while he worked.

.

Gathered around the holo-table upstairs, the rest of the team prepped for the next day's mission. Skye, with her ability to take in information from so many cues simultaneously, gave what looked like her full attention to Coulson while nudging Lance next to her and nodding surreptitiously towards the screen of security footage. Lance looked over and grinned. He in turn nudged Bobbi who smiled and alerted Mack.

Coulson and May suddenly found themselves briefing four remarkably talented field agents who were all gazing directly over their heads, grinning like idiots. The two of them turned to see what the fuss was about and not even Agent Melinda May could hold back a small smile when she saw Fitz and Jemma huddled together over a workbench just like the old days.

Coulson turned back to the team. "Ok, can we have a group hug or something and get back to work?"

Skye gave him one of her looks. "You can't pretend you don't love seeing those two working together again."

Coulson glanced back at the screen a moment. Fitz and Jemma were laughing about something while they worked. "You're right," he said, eyes still on them, "I do love it." Then he turned his sharp eyes back on his agents. "But so help me, I'll turn that TV off if you don't give me your full attention right this minute. That includes you, Skye."

"Yes, _Dad_," muttered Skye under breath. She flicked her eyes to the screen once more to see Jemma get up to fetch something and then return to Fitz's side, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. Skye smiled to herself. The cuteness of it made her want to vomit. And it was the closest thing to home she could imagine.


	11. Chapter 11

_This is part three of a story that starts in Chapter 9 of By My Side._

.

Fitz and Jemma had taken the repaired processor back over to the lab for some tests. Between them they'd negotiated a range of obstacles and proposed and found solutions. Each of them couldn't help but register afresh how much faster and more efficiently they worked when they were together. With the alphacron's processor restored to its full operational capacity, Jemma turned her attention to Fitz.

"Never been a better time for a celebratory pot of tea, wouldn't you say?" she suggested.

Fitz took a deep breath. "Lead the way, Simmons."

When they got back to The Bus, it wasn't quite ten. Jemma leant against the galley kitchen bench while Fitz rummaged for his long-neglected tin of leaf tea.

"Boil the water will you, Jemma?" he asked as he unearthed his glazed ceramic teapot. He smiled at it like he would an old friend.

"Ah, yes," she nodded, filling the kettle. "It's tricky to stuff that bit up."

Fitz laughed. "It's impossible to stuff any of it up. Making a pot of tea is the simplest thing in the world!"

Simmons shook her head. "You're wrong about that Dr. Leopold Fitz. You have a _gift_."

Fitz snorted.

"You do!" she cried. "Like I said, your tea has a medicinal quality!"

"I thought you were sceptical about alternative medicine, Dr. Jemma Simmons."

"Tea is hardly _alternative_ medicine, Fitz. As my Nanna used to say, the first thing they do when you wake up in hospital is offer you a cup of tea, so it must be good for you."

"And with this anecdote we're time-travelling back to?"

"About 1947?"

"Ah."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. But people with the tea brewer's gift, like you, _should_ be there to make people tea when they wake up in hospital."

Fitz took the boiled kettle from her and gently swirled the steaming water around the cavity of the pot to warm it. He fished out the brown woollen trivet and tea cosy his mum had knitted him. Jemma had always admired the intricate blue and beige argyle pattern his mum had lovingly and painstakingly knitted into them.

Fitz rested the warmed pot on the trivet and performed what Jemma was sure was one of the magical parts of the ritual. She had watched him do this so many times – he never seemed to measure the spoonfuls of tea leaves the same way. And yet, by her fairly accurate reckoning, the same amount of fragile black flakes floated down into the vessel. He seemed to somehow subtly adjust the strength of the tea to the need of the moment or that was how she had always thought of it.

Taking up the freshly boiled kettle, Fitz tipped it with a steady hand, stirring gently so that the rich brown colour swirled out of the leaves and into the water. A third stir, no more. Fitz tapped the teaspoon smartly on the rim of the pot and then carefully replaced the lid with what seemed to Jemma to be a highly satisfying clink. She took up the woollen cosy in her hands and fitted it snugly over the pot, as if carefully wrapping a small child in a warm cardigan. The heat emanating from he pot slowly warmed her hands through the soft wool – she held them there a moment longer, feeling as though it were somehow recharging her.

Fitz had managed to locate the two teacups that were part of the set. They were the same rich brown ceramic as the teapot, the glaze glinting in the light. Jemma watched Fitz warm them the same way as he had the pot and remembered the feel of the cup in her hand. One of them had a slight chip and Fitz had always taken that one for himself, giving her the pristine one, even though she suspected that she was the one who chipped it in a careless washing up incident.

"Take it to the table, Fitz," she said. "I'll get some milk."

Fitz looked over at the lounge. No one was there yet, so, for a moment, his anxieties threatened to flood in. But then reason took hold. _We are sharing a pot of tea_, he lectured himself. _Of course, I need to sit next to her!_ And he boldly claimed the only two seater couch, sitting himself on one half and placing the tea pot and cups down on the table in front of him.

In a moment, Jemma sat herself next to him placing a pot of freshly boiled water for top-ups and a small jug of milk down next to the pot. Fitz smiled to himself. It looked like they were settling in for at least an hour of tea drinking.

"Now we wait for the next bit of magic," Jemma whispered.

"What on earth are you talking about, Simmons?" Fitz sighed in mock exasperation.

"The precise moment that it's ready to pour," she replied. "You always seem to intuitively know exactly when to pour it so that it is perfectly brewed."

Fitz shrugged. If only he could read Simmons like he could a teapot. The moment came and Fitz lifted the pot away from its trivet to pour the gloriously rich dark tea into their warmed cups. The scent of Assam, Ceylon and Keemun filled the air and Jemma breathed in deeply, breathing out with a contented sigh.

"It's been too long between drinks, Fitz," she said quietly as she watched him pour a just-right amount of milk into her cup. He held it out to her with both hands and she took it with both of hers, remembering as she did the magical quality of Fitz's teacups. Somehow, despite the scalding temperature of the tea, only a comfortably warming heat permeated the ceramic. These were the ideal teacups to nurse in ones hands, to warm oneself while one nutted through a problem and surmounted an obstacle.

And as Jemma raised the cup to her lips and sipped at Fitz's superlative brew, another of those obstacles fell away and a solution became perfectly clear.

She let both Fitz and herself take a quiet moment to savour the culmination of this ritual that had been almost as much a glue in their friendship as the mutual love of science and discovery that initially brought them together. Then she took a deep breath.

"Fitz," she began. "I've been thinking."

"Mmm?" he responded, his whole body suddenly more at peace than he'd felt in a long time.

"I have a proposition for you."

He looked openly back at her, emboldened by the restoration of something so significant between them.

"I know you chose the garage and I know you had your reasons, but I wonder," she paused to take another empowering sip. "I wonder if you could think about the possibility of spending a proportion of your week in the lab with me."

"A proportion?" Fitz asked.

"Like one day a week?" she suggested tentatively. "Or maybe an hour or two each day? Or every other day if that's too much?"

She placed her cup down in front of her and looked earnestly into his eyes. "Fitz, we were great today. And every time I've come to you for help recently we've solved the problem in half the time I would have on my own." Jemma was talking fast now, as if the sheer volume of words could hold off the refusal she felt sure was coming. "Wasn't that why we started working together at The Academy? We were twice as smart together, remember?"

Fitz suddenly broke into a grin.

"What?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowed.

"How's this," he responded, placing his cup down next to hers. "What if I start each day with you. I'll make us a pot of tea, we can talk about what you've got on in the lab and I can bring my challenges from the garage. Then, if it's something we want to work on together, we can, and if not, or if Mack needs me, I'll go back to the garage. Would that work?"

Jemma was speechless. She had no expectation of him actually agreeing but he had just suggested the most wonderful arrangement she could have imagined. She impulsively threw her arms around his neck. Fitz hugged her back without letting himself overthink it. He was delighted by the possibility of a return to the way they used to be, while still maintaining a place to which he could escape if he felt it was too much.

At that moment, Mack wandered into the lounge. His eyes widened to see Fitz and Jemma embracing on the lounge but Fitz grinned at him and winked over Jemma's shoulder as they disentangled themselves from one another and returned to their teacups.

Mack chuckled silently as he bent down to retrieve a beer from the fridge. Nice to be on the receiving end of a wink from Turbo at last.

.

_It is just possible that this story is as much a homage to a good pot of tea as it is to the glory that is Fitzsimmons? Well, who doesn't want a man with mad tea brewing skillz?_


	12. Chapter 12

_Part Four of a story that starts back in By My Side Chapter 9_

_._

It was all going fairly well until she stabbed herself in the eye with her mascara wand. Why on earth she was even applying mascara in the first place was not yet entirely clear to her. She rinsed her eye with cold water until it seemed to feel better and look less red. Then she moved on to rectifying the make-up disaster which was no mean feat. Thankfully, though it was certainly out of character, she had given quite a bit of thought to her outfit the previous evening and it hung ready on the back of her door.

Looking at it afresh, she noticed that despite all her effort, she had selected older clothes, ones she hadn't worn since… well, ones she hadn't worn in a while. Clothes that seemed to hold happy memories. Clothes from a simpler time. She didn't want to think too hard about why today got so much extra effort, she just wanted to make sure she was on time to meet Fitz in the lounge for their first go at starting their days together.

When she arrived in the lounge at the appointed hour of seven-thirty, Fitz had his back to her at the galley kitchen but the teacups, milk jug, hot water pot and tea pot already waited on the table. She could smell the tea brewing along with another wonderfully familiar smell.

He turned around as he heard her approach and she saw that he'd just pulled a freshly baked tray of her favourite fig and vanilla bean muffins out of the oven.

"Oh Fitz! You baked too!?"

He had made these for her whenever she was homesick at The Academy. Both of them would sail through so much of their assessment work that they found quite a lot of time for recipe development. This was the era in which she had perfected her homemade pesto aioli. As the one with the sweeter tooth, she had inspired all kinds of gourmet baking adventures for Fitz and this recipe – the fig and vanilla bean muffins – had been a triumph. On the spot she resolved to make a batch of pesto aioli for him as soon as she could spare the time.

At last she looked from the muffins to the man himself. He was back in a shirt and tie for the first time in what seemed like ages. And the cardigan he'd paired with them was the navy one with the fluorescent orange trim she'd given him for his last birthday before things went south with Ward. She'd chosen navy because it did such wonderful things for his cornflower blue eyes. Combined with the effect of the tea, the muffins and the tie, the navy seemed to be working just fine for him this morning.

She sighed as she sank into the couch. "Fig and vanilla bean. How I've missed you."

Fitz grinned and sat next to her, pouring her tea just how she liked it. He handed her a palette knife. "Want to try levering one of those out of the tin?" he asked.

After successfully freeing a muffin, Jemma sank her teeth into it and found herself so eager to pass on her compliments to the chef that she sprayed crumbs all over their piles of notes.

"Ok, ok," Fitz laughed. "I'll take that as a thumbs up."

Jemma loved working with Fitz again. As soon as they'd eaten their fill of muffins, they got straight to work and together solved each of their individual challenges in almost no time. She would describe a problem, he would ask an insightful question, she would make a point of clarification, he would propose a suggestion, she would raise a logistical issue, he would ponder, she would draw a diagram and suddenly she'd see a way forward. She'd tell him her theory, he'd agree it would work but suggest a slight variation on her proposal and suddenly everything seemed perfectly clear.

Similarly, he'd lay out a blue print and point out a flaw. She would turn it slightly to one side, ask about why he'd made a particular decision about choice of materials and propose an alternative. He'd run a quick simulation on his tablet and find she was perfectly correct.

Fitz had set an alarm to go off at nine to prompt him not to overstay his welcome. "Right," he said, suddenly getting to his feet. "Unless you need me for anything else, I might get back to the garage."

Jemma looked up in surprise, finding herself not quite ready to let him go. "You're right, of course," she said. "I should be getting back too."

"I'm taking one of these muffins down to Mack – do you want to take the rest to the lab?" he offered.

Jemma got to her feet. "I want all the muffins you can spare!" she cried, picking up the teapot and milk jug, carrying them over to the sink and starting to run some hot water.

"Let me wash up," Fitz said, placing down the cups he'd just carried over and taking the teapot out of her hands. "You have troops to command."

Jemma accepted that he was probably right but she really didn't want to leave. She dawdled back to the couch and gathered her belongings.

Fitz was there when she turned around with the rest of the muffins on a plate.

"Can't guarantee I'm going to share these," she confessed.

"I was only thinking of you when I made them," he chuckled. "Go on, eat them all!"

"You're not going to bake like this every morning, are you?"

Fitz shrugged. "I might."

"Oh dear," Jemma laughed. "I'd better get back in the habit of starting the day on the treadmill."

"Nah," Fitz shook his head. "Start the day here with me." And he gave her a wave and turned back to the washing up.


	13. Chapter 13

_This is Part Five of a story that starts in By My Side ch9_

.

Fitz and Jemma were each regularly caught whistling at inappropriate moments, there was a sudden proliferation of high quality baked goods around the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, and the lab and garage were hives of previously unimaginable productivity. Jemma and Fitz's morning routine was now sacred to both of them. They started their day together over a pot of tea, some baking and a to-do list of impossible tasks, went their separate ways to achieve said impossible tasks and then were reunited at the end of the day. They were now always the first to arrive in the lounge of an evening to brew more tea, claim the couch and debrief over their activities while apart.

One such evening, Coulson leaned over the back of the couch on which the two of them sat. "FitzSimmons, just a heads up that I'll be crashing your tea party tomorrow morning."

"Of course, sir," said Jemma. "Is everything ok?"

"I'll brief you in the morning. And Fitz?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I want to sample some of this baking everyone's been talking about."

"Of course, sir," Fitz grinned. "Any preferences?"

Jemma rested her hand on Fitz' forearm. "That rhubarb danish you made last week!"

Fitz shook his head. "No, what about the lemon poppy seed friands?"

"I know," Jemma enthused. "The German coffee cake."

Fitz nodded. "Yes. Good choice." He looked over his shoulder. "Sound alright to you, sir?" But Coulson had already left the lounge. Fitz looked back at Jemma sheepishly.

"Want some help baking it?" she offered.

"Sure, you can be my kitchen hand." He always jumped at opportunities to spend more time with Simmons. "Meet me here at 0600?"

"You're on," she yawned, getting up and taking their two tea cups and the milk jug over to the sink.

He followed after her with the teapot. "I wonder what Coulson's up to."

"Guess we'll find out in the morning," she replied, filling the sink with hot sudsy water and taking the pot out of his hands. "It's my turn to wash up," she stated. "Go on, you go to bed."

"Alright," he nodded slowly. "Night."

"Night," she replied over the clink of crockery. "Oh, and Fitz?"

"Mmm?" he replied, half turning on the top stair.

"Better bring your baking A-game for the director."

Fitz scoffed. "When have you ever known me _not_ to bring my baking A-game?" he asked playfully.

"Actually," Jemma replied seriously, "You're a better baker than my nanna. And the whole family would cast me out if they heard me say that, but it's true. You could take out some serious prizes at the Chatsworth County Fair."

He laughed as he descended the steps. "I might need a curly wig with a blue rinse."

"That can be arranged," she called after him.

Fitz ambled off to bed with a smile on his face. He loved those last few minutes of banter with Simmons as they parted each night. Then he remembered that Coulson was meeting with them in the morning. He gave what was left of his mental energy to trying to predict the task. His guess was that it would have something to do with Skye and her mysterious and frightening "gift".

…

It seemed Fitz's guess was correct. Over early morning German coffee cake, Coulson briefed Fitz and Simmons on their upcoming mission.

"Look, FitzSimmons," he began, laying down his sparsely crumbed plate. "I don't think I've yet said how great it is to see you two collaborating again. Personally, I'm delighted – the pair of you were key ingredients in the glue that brought our original team together. Professionally, I'm awed. The productivity of both the lab and the garage has reached unprecedented heights."

Fitz and Simmons smiled bashfully back at him.

"But truthfully, I think we're about to face the time when we'll most need you united, both for your combined skills and for what you contribute relationally to one another and to the rest of us."

Like in the old days, Fitz and Simmons simultaneously leaned forward and rested their chins on their right fists. Coulson took it as an encouraging sign.

"The aim of this mission is two-fold. Skye has this "gift". We want to understand it better. We want to know both the extent of her powers and how badly it depletes her strength. Secondly, we want to know what we can do to help her control it, or, if necessary, in the case that she can't control it, how we can stop her from causing an event without harming her.

The pair in front of him nodded gravely.

"You'll have three weeks to prepare. Work with Mack. This morning he's taking delivery of the vehicle that will be home to the three of you for a month. The Bus will drop you in the Atacama Desert in Chile. It's extremely remote to reduce the chances of Skye causing harm to anyone."

"Or harm to herself," Skye added.

"Exactly," Coulson nodded. "Chances are, given what we've seen so far, Skye will be catatonic for days at a time after each test of her powers. So, FitzSimmons? I need to make one thing clear."

Two earnest faces looked back at him, ready for orders.

"Whatever it is that is unspoken between you, whatever tension might remain, or feelings that might need dealing with, you're going to have a lot of time to think and talk about them in the desert. You can decide to go your separate ways afterwards if you like, heck, you can decide to start a family. None of that is my concern. What _is_ my concern is Skye and her well-being. She is going to need you two for reassurance, for company, for light-relief, for emotional support. The two of you are going to be her family out there so you are going to need to be at peace with one another." He looked pointedly at Fitz. "There can be none of this finding it too painful to work together business. Once you commit to this mission, you're stuck with one another." He paused and shook his head. "I only wish I could be there for her myself."

Fitz spoke up, seeking Simmons' eyes. "We can do it, can't we Jemma? You'll be able to put up with me for Skye's sake?"

She nodded vigorously.

He turned to Coulson. "Jemma and I can do it, sir. You don't have to worry about Skye."

"That's right," Jemma corroborated. "Skye will come first."

Coulson looked from one to the other. "Ok." He pulled out his tablet. "Here's what you're going to need." He turned his attention to Jemma. "You're chief medical officer, obviously. Take all your usual gear, as much as you can work with Mack to store in the vehicle, but you'll also need to work with Fitz to develop some advanced monitoring equipment. We don't just need vitals, we need to rig up some kind of seismographic monitors to measure the effect of each event on Skye's brain and body."

Jemma had pulled out her own tablet and was nodding as she scribbled down notes in a baffling short hand of her own creation. Fitz was the only other person who could read it, and he used it too. Coulson turned to Fitz.

"Fitz, you'll need to work on a means of administering a targeted sedation that Jemma will have to create. It needs to not only put her to sleep but also somehow prevent her from causing an event, or stop one before it really gets going. Obviously, our aim is to help her learn to control her own powers, but at least in the early days I imagine we'll need to have the ability to step in when she can't. Trick is, we might have to be able to administer it from a significant distance away."

The pair of them kept nodding and scribbling on their tablets.

"We need to understand her triggers," Coulson continued. "We'll need comms that can withstand seismic activity. I'll have to ask you to talk to her about subjects that are emotionally painful for her. We need to know her weaknesses to ensure we can protect her."

"Are you worried about her father, sir?" Jemma asked.

Coulson looked back at her from under a furrowed brow. "Sure, I'm worried about Cal." He paused. "But it's Ward who I'm losing sleep over."

"Ward?" A cloud came over Fitz's face. "You think he'll come after us?"

Coulson shook his head. "The last time he saw Skye, she gave him some bullets to the abdomen. I don't think he'll be in a rush to track her down." He smiled to himself. "I'm proud of that girl." He shook his head, remembering the urgency of the task at hand. "But it didn't escape my notice, and it wouldn't have escaped his, that her shots were non-lethal. She had the opportunity to kill him, and plenty of motive, but she clearly still has feelings for him, confused as they must be." He sighed. "Look, I want Skye to come out of this process empowered and in control, but in order for her to get there she's going to need to be confronted with the depths of her emotional baggage – the loss of her mother, the circumstances of her childhood, the realities of her father and whatever weakness she might still harbour where Ward is concerned."

Jemma looked sympathetically from Coulson to Fitz. "We understand," she stated simply. "Will you brief Skye about us testing her triggers?"

"Of course," Coulson replied. "She'll know what's ahead."

"Sir," Fitz said. "What can you tell us about the specs of the vehicle?"

"Ah," Coulson grinned. "I admit, it's a little unorthodox."

A deep voice rumbled from the stairwell preceding the appearance of Mack's head. "Um, sir? They've delivered a Winnebago." He looked unimpressed. "Are you sure I should sign off on that?"

Coulson nodded. "That's what we ordered. But you're going to get to pimp it out, ok Mack?"

A grin grew slowly across the big man's face. "Whatever you say, sir." And he turned and disappeared back down the stairs.

"A Winnebago?" Fitz asked. "Isn't that like a campervan?"

"It's not _like_ a campervan," Coulson replied, a twinkle in his eye. "It _is_ a campervan. And by the time Mack's done with it, it's going to be the most tricked out campervan you've ever been in."

"Given that I'm yet to experience being in a campervan, that's not going to be too hard."

"Now Fitz," Coulson chided. "Don't be a hater. Wait til you've tried it."

Fitz and Jemma grinned at one another.

"Another thing," Coulson added, returning to briefing mode. "You're going to need to put your heads together to work out how to build a suspended isolation chamber into the camper for Skye. We're not sure what extended use of her powers might bring on and, in our experience of 084s, sometimes power can be exerted unintentionally by the subject while they sleep. For the safety of all of you, you want her to be unable to affect her environment while she sleeps, especially if she does tend to sink into post-event catatonia."

Jemma let out a low whistle. "Three weeks prep you say?"

"Should I leave you to it?"

They didn't even answer. Already their heads were bent towards each other with Jemma sketching a diagram on her tablet while Fitz asked questions and made suggestions.

Coulson smiled. "Guess I'll just get out of your way then."

No response.

"Skye's clearly in good hands," he added but they were too far gone to hear.


	14. Chapter 14

_So just in case you've just jumped in at this point, here are some things worth knowing._

_Firstly: WARNING: S2E10 Spoilers. _

_With this By My Side story that you've clicked on, there's an ongoing story hidden in here after a bunch of one-shots. Here's a rough guide: Part 1 (ch9) in which the team starts a new nightly tradition to cope with their grief. Part 2 (ch10) in which there's a good shift in the fabric of Fitzsimmons. Part 3 (ch11) a homage to Fitz and the brewing of a good pot of tea. Part 4(12) in which Fitz bakes and Part 5(13) in which Coulson briefs them on their field mission - Science vs Skye and her "gift"._

_This chapter right here(ch14) is Part 6, in which Mack makes a very slightly off-colour suggestion and Simmons gets to overhear Feminist Fitz in rebuke mode. Part 7, which is next (ch15) is where Simmons rewards him._

* * *

FitzSimmons and Mack had been working from early morning until late into the night every day for a week. So many decisions needed to be made, and equipment invented or modified before they could start work on configuring the camper, that the benches in the garage were strewn with blueprints and notes and the holo-table upstairs was working overtime running simulations for them.

Jemma was in the middle of transferring piles of notes and plans from the garage to the lab so she was rushing back and forth, bickering good-naturedly with Fitz as she came and went.

"… and you should know _that_ by now, Fitz! It only comes up in every version of _Trivial Pursuit_ ever released…" her voice trailed off as she disappeared down the corridor. "Even the Barbie version!" was the last faint cry of protest they could make sense of.

Fitz chuckled to himself as he turned back to his workspace and refocused on the suspended chamber he was designing for Skye.

In an instant, Mack was at his side. "Ok," he rumbled. "I need to get your input while Simmons is out of the room."

Out in the corridor, Jemma, who was back to pick up something she forgot and just about to throw in another _Trivial Pursuit_ themed barb from the doorway, closed her open mouth and listened.

"Talk to me about how we arrange the beds, Turbo," Mack went on, grinning. "We've got to maximise opportunities for the _magic_ to happen between you and your science lady."

Jemma's mouth fell open again. It's true, she could be accused of being not all that quick on the uptake where innuendo was concerned, but Mack was unmistakeable. She felt cold all over. How Fitz would respond was suddenly the most crucial thing in the world. She checked her position to ensure she could see and hear them but they couldn't see her. Fitz was leaning against the bench, arms locked, head down. He heaved a sigh.

"Mack?" he ventured. "It's not like I'm some loser desperate for a shag, you know."

Mack nodded. "I know, I know. It's just that you're crazy about her, right?" He nudged Fitz with his elbow. "C'mon, am I right?"

Fitz shrugged.

"And you're going to be out there in the middle of the desert, alone with her for a whole month, with Skye unconscious for days at a time…" he raised his eyebrows at Fitz, waiting for him to catch on.

Fitz rubbed at the back of his neck. "Look, Mack, I appreciate the thought, but…"

"But what?"

"I don't know if you understand…"

"Oh, I understand, alright," Mack continued, grinning. "You like her, you just struggle to find the opportunity – well, help me make you an opportunity."

"No!" Fitz said, surprisingly sharply, and Mack took a step back.

"Mack," Fitz implored. "She isn't interested. I want to be a good man. And good men have to believe in a woman's right _not_ to want to be with them."

"Huh?" Mack looked baffled. Outside, Jemma smiled to herself. _Feminist Leo Fitz._ She'd taught him well.

"I want you to talk to _Jemma_ about how to organise our sleeping arrangements," he said firmly.

"But Fitz!" Mack was going to make him spell it out and Jemma was transfixed.

Fitz was almost shouting now. "Look, Mack, she doesn't love me! And I don't want to try and _make_ something happen between Jemma and I while we're stuck out in the desert – out of boredom, or out of some advantage that comes about because you put our beds in the right configuration!" he fumed. "Jemma Simmons is the most precious person in the entire world to me! I want her to feel utterly safe. I want her to have all the privacy she needs. I want her to feel completely comfortable. I want all of the awkward, unsaid stuff to be as far away from the day-to-day reality of our relationship as it can possible get!" He suddenly sighed. "And if later in our lives, by some incredible turn of events, she falls in love with me the way that I'm in love with her?" He shrugged again speaking more quietly now, "Then I can't imagine the furniture arrangements will come into it at all. But I won't be making any moves, ok? I won't be the one starting that conversation. I wish I could reassure her that she doesn't have to worry about another love confession from me. If, in some parallel universe, she should ever decide that she wants to be with me, she's going to have to be the one to bring it up."

Mack had retreated a few paces back with both hands in the air. "Sorry, Turbo," he said quietly. "You're right, man."

"It's alright, Mack," he replied. "I know you're just looking out for me. But right now I have another shot at the friendship she and I used to have and I'm not jeopardising that for anything. Talk to Jemma about the beds, ok?"

Mack nodded, turning back to his work bench. "Whatever you say, man."

Out in the corridor, Jemma stood completely still, a smile on her face. Fitz didn't know it and as yet she had only twigged to the vaguest haze of possibility, but that incredible turn of events wasn't nearly as unlikely as he thought.

* * *

_Apologies if I've maligned Mack here, but I just wanted to give Fitz a chance to show some feminist chops!_


	15. Chapter 15

_So just in case you've just jumped in at this point, here are some things worth knowing._

_Firstly: WARNING: S2E10 Spoilers. _

_With this By My Side story that you've clicked on, there's an ongoing story hidden in here after a bunch of one-shots. Here's a rough guide: Part 1 (ch9) in which the team starts a new nightly tradition to cope with their grief. Part 2 (ch10) in which there's a good shift in the fabric of Fitzsimmons. Part 3 (ch11) a homage to Fitz and the brewing of a good pot of tea. Part 4(12) in which Fitz bakes and Part 5(13) in which Coulson briefs them on their field mission - Science vs Skye and her "gift". In Part 6(14) Mack makes a very slightly off-colour suggestion and Simmons gets to overhear Feminist Fitz in rebuke mode. THIS (ch15) is Part 7, which is where you get to see Simmons reward him __J I think this is my favourite chapter so far. Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

Fitz stumbled into the lounge late that night, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't seen Simmons all afternoon and he was looking forward to their evening debrief. He fumbled through the storage locker to find his teapot and leaves. Removing the lid to warm the pot, he found a hand-written note scrawled on a scrap of blueprint and shoved inside. It was Jemma's unmistakeable handwriting. "My bunk – NOW!"

He smiled to himself, balling the paper up in his hand. _What are you up to, Simmons?_

He knocked on the door of her bunk and it slid open. "Quick!" she whispered. "Inside!"

Fitz slipped in the door, pulling it closed behind him. "What's going on, Jemma?" he whispered, turning to look at her.

And she was sitting on her bed, surrounded by Chinese take-away containers, grinning and clicking a pair of chopsticks at him. "Hungry?" she asked.

Fitz was incredulous. "Always," he breathed, sitting down next to her.

"Tuck in then," she encouraged, handing him some chopsticks.

"Steamed dumplings?"

"Of course!"

"Moo Shu Pork with pancakes?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

"Kung Po Beef?"

"Fitz! What do you take me for?

"General Tso's Chicken?"

"As if I'd leave that out."

"Szechuan Shrimp?"

"Honestly…"

"And Hunan Duck?"

"You act as if I've never ordered Chinese take-away before!"

"Well," Fitz murmured, "I guess it's been a little while."

"It has, I know. I'm sorry. But today you really deserve it. Oh, and I almost forgot dessert," she said, handing him a bag of fortune cookies.

"Simmons, you are the _best_."

She smiled beatifically as he got stuck into the closest carton.

"What prompted you to think I deserve this?" he asked, his mouth full of duck and special fried rice.

She shrugged. "Just something you said earlier."

"Mmph?" he queried. "What was that?"

"I don't recall the particulars," she lied. "But it was pretty awesome."

Fitz grinned happily at her as he handed her the carton of chicken and reached for the shrimp. "Well, I'm not going to argue with you!"

"Oh, and Fitz?" she said, reaching behind her for her laptop. "I've got the new series of _Sherlock_!"

"Really? This night just gets better and better!" he crowed.

She set it up at the foot of her bed and the two of them shuffled around to the lean against the bedhead. It was not lost on Fitz that they had to sit _very_ close to one another, balancing all the take-away containers somewhat precariously in their laps.

"And one more thing." She leaned down to the floor and then straightened up holding a couple of bottles of Dark Island Reserve Scottish Ale.

Fitz's jaw dropped. "Whatever I said, it must have been _really _good."

"Trust me," Jemma replied, nudging him affectionately with her elbow. "It _was_. There's a whole case down here."

"Ok, so six hours of great telly, twenty four of my favourite beers, enough Chinese food to feed a small island nation," Fitz enthused. "And you."

"And me. Good surprise?" she asked, already sure of the answer.

Fitz impulsively threw his arm over her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. "The best." He went to draw his arm away but Jemma grabbed his hand. "I might need you to keep your arm there to stop me from falling off the bed," she giggled. "Can you cope one-handed?"

Fitz couldn't quite believe his luck. "I think I can manage," he said jovially, clinking his beer bottle against hers. "Still got my good arm free for shovelling in food."

Jemma nestled in against him before clicking the remote to start _Sherlock_ and taking up the Moo Shu Pork to hold between them.

Fitz rested his head back against the wall and grinned up at the ceiling, as if offering a prayer of thanks for his excellent fortune. When he looked back down, Jemma was smiling at him. "I wonder what the Chinese take-away will be like in the Atacama Desert?"

"I can live without the take-out," he said boldly. "As long as I'll have you with me."

"I feel the same way," she whispered, and snuggled back against him to watch the screen.

* * *

_Isn't this the kind of Fitzsimmons we all want more of!? This came about because I thought I'd try typing "Fitzsimmons Week" into the fanfiction-dot-net search engine. Highly recommended! After reading those awesome stories, all I wanted to write was more of the fun Fitzsimmons of old with a flirtatious twist! Stay tuned for the next chapter in which they get BUSTED and read fortune cookies to one another…_

_And thanks to Spitfire303 for the ongoing encouragement!_


	16. Chapter 16

_Welcome back to this odd story-within-a-bunch-of-stories. Here's what you should know: S2E10 Spoilers crop up here and there. Also, this is Part 8 of a story that began back in ch9 of By My Side. I think I'm going to call it The Flying Haggis: Fitzsimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome. We'll see…_

* * *

Jemma woke the next morning to a horribly loud banging sound right next to her head.

"Mmph?"

She went to roll over but was prevented by warm arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She relaxed back into the embrace and closed her eyes.

Suddenly there was the banging again.

The comfortable foundation on which she rested her head seemed to shift beneath her. She groaned.

She heard a muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Simmons?" It was Skye. "Are you in there?"

"Mmm," she replied.

"Can I come in?" Skye called.

"If you absolutely _have_ to," she murmured.

The bunk door slid open noisily, jolting Jemma into semi-consciousness. She blinked in the light. Above her, Skye was looking distinctly scandalised.

"What is it?" Jemma whispered, sleepily.

"You and Fitz!" Skye hissed back.

"Me and Fitz what?"

"You spent the night together!"

Jemma shook her head. "No we didn't," she mumbled. "We just watched _Sherlock_ and then…"

Skye took in the bottles littering the floor. "And then fell asleep in a drunken stupor?"

"Yes, that's right. Well, the sleep part is right at least."

Skye pointed to the bed next to her then yanked the curtains open. "He's still here, Jemma."

Jemma's eyes suddenly opened wide. "He is?"

"Has he had his arms wrapped around you like that all night long?" Skye cooed. "That's kind of adorable."

Jemma managed to disentangle herself from Fitz's embrace enough to sit up. "Umm… can you give us a moment, please, Skye?"

Skye held up her palms. "Of course. But find me in the lounge as soon as you can, ok? Coulson wants to see the three of us."

"Ok," Jemma nodded.

Skye left, sliding the bunk door closed behind her.

Jemma looked at Fitz, still snoozing gently beside her. She rubbed her head. It was a bit painful. She was also feeling a mite peckish. She spotted the unopened bag of fortune cookies threatening to disappear down the gap between the bed and the wall and reached over Fitz to rescue them. The movement combined with the loud crackling of the cellophane bag woke him.

"Simmons?" he asked, disoriented.

"Here," she mumbled, shoving the bag of cookies at him. "Breakfast."

He squinted in the bright light streaming through her window as he absent-mindedly reached into the bag. He sat up next to her, leaning bleary-eyed against the bedhead.

"Good morning," he murmured sleepily, breaking the cookie. "Looks like I overstayed my welcome."

"_Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together as they do in you,_" Jemma replied.

Fitz blinked rapidly. He looked over to see that she was reading from her fortune. He laughed, "Why, thank you."

"I think the cookie meant _me_," she pointed out.

"Of course," he nodded. "It's like the cookie _knows_ you."

"Shut up, Fitz," Jemma yawned.

"Don't you want to hear my fortune?" He turned it the right way up. "_A man without aim is like a clock without hands, as useless if it turns as if it stands_." He paused for a moment. "Oh, it's too early in the morning for this sort of thing," and he reached for another.

Jemma was already breaking open her second cookie. "_Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere._ Coulson's not going to be very impressed with us then."

"But Jemma, _A merry heart does good like a medicine_," Fitz laughed, spraying cookie crumbs on the bed spread.

"Gross, Fitz!" she cried, elbowing him in the ribs.

As if wrestling with the little sister he never had, Fitz grabbed her playfully round the waist and lifted her onto his lap. She immediately began tickling him furiously until Fitz cried out for mercy.

She slumped back against the wall, giggling, her legs still lying across Fitz's lap. He reached for the bag of cookies, offered her one and fished another one out for himself.

"_A wish is what makes life happen when you dream of rose petals_," she informed him faux-earnestly, popping the two halves of the cookie into her mouth.

"Well, that's good to know," he replied, rolling his eyes. "And apparently _A new wardrobe brings great joy and change to your life_. Well, that's it, Simmons. You'll have to take me shopping right away."

She laughed, only slightly sad that such a shopping trip would be impossible. "We better get up, Fitz," she sighed.

"Do we have to?" he groaned. "I just want to stay here with you and eat congealed Chinese food."

"Me too," she agreed. "Alright, you get up first."

"Why me?" he asked. "You're the one with your legs draped all over me."

"And whose fault is that, I ask you?" she shot back archly.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled good-naturedly. "I'm moving."

She smiled up at him, holding out the almost empty cellophane bag as he clambered to his feet. "Want a fortune cookie for the road?"

"Don't mind if I do," he replied, fishing one out. "Make sure you report anything of note from that fortune though, won't you?" he said, pointing out the last cookie in the bag. "I'd hate to miss out on any gems of quasi-Confucian psycho-babble."

"Scout's honour," she saluted solemnly.

Fitz winked, then slipped out of Jemma's bunk and headed to his own to brush his teeth and change clothes.

Left alone, Jemma cracked open her last cookie. _You will take a pleasant journey to a place far away._ She smiled. The Atacama Desert, Chile was pretty far away.

Nearer by, a slightly fresher Fitz, now clad in the shirt, tie and cardigan that he happened to know was Jemma's favourite combination, broke open his own last cookie. The slip of paper fell neatly into his hands. On it was printed _She's in love with you. Trust me. She is._

He stood still and gazed wide-eyed at the paper for a moment, smiling to himself. Then he caught his own reflection in the mirror. _Dr Leopold Fitz_, he lectured himself. _Aren't you a man who values reason above all else? You're not taking encouragement from a kitsch Chinese baked good that came free with some Szechuan Shrimp now, are you?_ He glared at himself a moment longer before shoving the broken cookie into his mouth and neatly tucking the fortune into the breast pocket of his shirt. He patted it a few times then shook his head and left to find Jemma.

* * *

_Even the fortune cookies want them to be together! Stay tuned for the next chapter in which Jemma gives Mack a hard time and Coulson, Fitzsimmons and Skye nut out more of the details of their remote desert mission in the Campervan of Awesome. But it's not actually written yet, so leave a review and let me know if you want to read more of this story!_


	17. Chapter 17

_Here in ch 17 of _By My Side_ we have Part 9 of what I've now entitled _The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome. _If you're baffled (and why shouldn't you be?) _The Flying Haggis _is a continuous story which starts in ch9 of _By My Side_ after a bunch of unrelated FitzSimmons one-shots. _

* * *

When they finally found Skye in the lounge, she could not keep the smirk off her face. "Nice night, you two?"

"Shut up, Skye," they rejoined in jovial unison.

"Ok, Fitz, you and I are off to Coulson's office. Simmons, Mack needs you in the garage to talk about beds or something."

Fitz suddenly found the ground extremely interesting and Jemma had to hold back a smile. "Beds? Ok, whatever," she said nonchalantly and strode off to the staircase.

"Oh, one more thing," she turned on her heel.

"What's that?" Skye asked.

"I think we should give Fitz naming rights for the campervan."

Fitz beamed at her while Skye looked mortified. "Really?" they asked in unison, in tones that matched their faces.

"You're about to hear what he's modified the dwarves to do – it's _amazing_," Jemma explained, and Fitz went a little bit red round the ears. "No one deserves to name this campervan more than him."

"So, lover boy," Skye began once Simmons was out of earshot. "You must have had the best night of your pasty life last night, hey?"

Fitz managed to stay cool. "Chinese food, beer, _Sherlock_, Simmons – what's not to love?" he replied laconically.

"Hmph," Skye laughed. "Very suavely, played, Fitzy Boy."

"Fitzy Boy?" he repeated, eyebrows high.

"Ok. So, not the most biting moniker ever bestowed," she acknowledged.

"Not remotely."

Coulson hung up the phone as the two of them entered.

"Where's Simmons?" he inquired as the two of them sat down.

"Talking beds with Mack," Skye explained.

Coulson briefly raised his eyebrows and then ploughed on, thinking it better not to know.

"Ok, Fitz, can you give me a progress report on the camper plans?"

ooo

Downstairs, Jemma was secretly enjoying Mack's somewhat obsequious manner. He was at pains to make up for what he'd said to Fitz, even though as far as he knew, Jemma has no idea what had transpired.

"So, Fitz said he thought you might have some ideas about how we should modify the sleeping arrangements."

"Modify?" she asked. "What's wrong with the way they are?"

"Well, once we fit Skye's isolation chamber into the camper here," he pointed, "The remaining bed is just this one double mattress on a frame that pulls down from the wall like this," he explained apologetically as he demonstrated.

Jemma clambered onto the lowered bed, bouncing slightly to test the mattress. She shrugged. "That sounds ok to me."

Mack looked confused. "It does?"

"Sure."

"No, I don't think you understand," he went on as she stretched herself out across the bed. "That means that you and Fitz would have to, ahem, share this bed every night."

"Did Coulson say no to that?"

Mack's eyes grew wider. "Well, _he_ didn't say no. Fitz and I just kind of thought that _you_ might not like the idea."

"I guess we might get on one another's nerves," she allowed.

"It's kind of close proximity though, isn't it?" he half-heartedly argued what he imagined to be her rightful perspective. "Every night in the same bed? Mostly alone together for a month?"

"Oh, Mack," Jemma laughed, propping herself up on one elbow. "You don't think I'd be worried about Fitz trying anything untoward, do you?"

Mack shook his head emphatically. "No Ma'am. I know for certain that you can absolutely trust my boy, Fitz. He would have to be one of the last remaining true gentlemen."

"Precisely," Jemma agreed. "So, the two of us sharing a bed will be fine."

Mack looked concerned.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that, umm…" He hesitated, unsure of exactly how to proceed.

"Go on, Mack," she encouraged. "We're both adults."

"It's just that, say Fitz were to find your sleeping quarters a bit too…"

"Too constricted?" she offered, stretching both her arms out as if to test the width of the mattress.

"No, I was going for something a little more along the lines of, umm… oh, never mind."

"Mmm?" she raised an eyebrow, secretly revelling in the pain she was inflicting on Mack.

"Well," Mack stammered. "I-it might make it a bit difficult for him to get much in the way of rest."

Jemma narrowed her eyes, taking her revenge on Mack for his attempt at misguiding Fitz earlier in the day. "Has Fitz given you any indication that the two of us sharing a bed would be problematic for him?"

Mack looked genuinely perturbed. "I just think you might want to discuss it with him before we charge ahead."

"Oh, alright," she said airily. "Only if you think it'll be really necessary." And she swung her legs off the bed and sat up, smiling sweetly, and then got up and swanned out of the room leaving poor Mack practically dying of awkwardness over his work bench.

ooo

Jemma sidled into Coulson's office to join the others with the slightest hint of an evil grin on her face.

They were each holding a mug of something and talking earnestly about the upcoming mission.

"What was the bed thing all about?" Skye asked as soon as she sat down.

Jemma shook her head. "Oh, Mack has this crazy notion that he should go out of his way and rig up some special bedding arrangement for us rather than just leave us to share the perfectly good double bed that's already installed."

Fitz coughed, spluttered and then spat his tea all over Coulson's desk.

Skye barely managed to disguise her glee.

Jemma patted him condescendingly on the leg. "We can have a little chat about it later."

"Right," Coulson continued, mopping at his desk and flicking his glance from one young face to the next. "Now, Skye, Fitzsimmons are going to have your back out there, alright?"

She nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

"And I'm going to do my best to come out and see you at least once. May wants to try and make it too." He shifted his attention back to Simmons. "Why don't you explain to Skye what you were discussing with me earlier about her isolation chamber."

"Of course, sir," Jemma nodded curtly, firing up her tablet and holding it so that Skye could see. "Our plan is to install your chamber in this section of the camper," she pointed to the diagram that had flashed up onto the screen. "Fitz, do you want to explain how it works?"

"It's a little tricky to distill into layman's terms," mused Fitz, who seemed to have quickly composed himself after Jemma's earlier revelation. "But essentially, the chamber will be suspended in such a way that should you exert your powers in your sleep, your surroundings should remain unaffected."

"And," Jemma went on, "Given that we don't yet know much about your powers, and that they're so new to you, we're taking the precaution of enforcing your sleep patterns."

"Enforcing?" Skye repeated warily.

"I'm sorry, Skye," Jemma went on. "As Fitz hinted, extensive S.H.I.E.L.D. research suggests that in the early days of coping with newfound powers, your abilities can surge out of your control and this is never more the case than just as you drift in and out of consciousness."

"I'm fine right now," Skye replied defensively. "No one's felt any tremors while I've been falling asleep, have they?"

"Skye, this is because Fitzsimmons will be putting you through your paces out there," Coulson said gently. "You're going to be testing the limits of your powers. That's why we need to take these precautions."

Simmons glanced at Coulson to see if she should continue. He nodded.

"Here's how it will work," she went on. "For the most part, we'll need you to be as well-rested as possible, though at some point in the mission we might have to see what part sleep deprivation will play in your control of your powers. Each night you'll enter your chamber at 10pm. Director Coulson insists that because of the dangers we've described, we can't really have you stumbling around in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. So," she hesitated briefly before charging on. "We're actually going to sedate you using a non-addictive, side-effect-free organic compound in gas form that I've been working with in the lab. It's perfectly safe and highly effective," she added reassuringly. "I've even tested it on Fitz and myself."

Fitz looked up, confused. "I don't remember you testing it on me."

"See?" said Jemma, smiling brightly at Skye. "Completely safe and effective. Then at 8am each morning, we'll blow a blast of another organic compound, an antidote of sorts, into your chamber to wake you."

"What about if I'm comatose for a few days, like what happened after… after that first night," Skye asked tentatively, and then disappeared into her thoughts for a moment as Trip's face appeared in all of their minds.

After a beat, Jemma broke the silence. "Unfortunately, the compound to wake you won't have an effect in that case," she explained apologetically. "We'll just have to let you sleep it off."

Skye shrugged, then, making the best of a bad situation, a mischievous grin grew slowly across her face. "And while I'm unconscious for eight hours every night and catatonic for a few days at a time, what are you two going to get up to?" she nudged Fitz in the ribs. "Same bed, hey, Fitzy Boy?"

Fitz gave her a distinctly school-teacherish stare and Coulson coughed emphatically.

"Ok, ok," Skye responded. "I'm paying attention."

Jemma glared at her and then continued on with her explanation. "We'll use a similar process should you pass out. Fitz has been modifying the dwarves so that they can actually lift and transport you back to the camper. Tell them, Fitz," she prompted.

"First of all," began Fitz, "You should know that I've taken full advantage of the naming rights bestowed on me for this mission. Henceforth, the camper shall be known as _The Flying Haggis_." He looked victoriously around at the room at the others who rolled their eyes. Only Jemma was encouraging.

"I like it, Fitz," she said, smiling. "Not least because I won my bet with Hunter – I said you'd go with Haggis, he said Braveheart." She did a little dance in her seat. "Twenty quid to meeee!" she sang.

Fitz looked a little deflated at being so predictable. "Braveheart was my second choice."

Coulson cleared his throat. "The dwarves, Fitz?"

"Oh, right…"A glint of the old Fitz shone through in the pride he showed in his achievements with the dwarves. "Ok, so we had a number of logistical concerns. Firstly, how can we protect you from the effects of your own powers?"

"For example," Simmons interrupted seamlessly, "What if you created a big enough seismic event that the ground gave way directly beneath you?"

"Exactly," nodded Fitz, and continued counting on his fingers. "Secondly, once you're away from _The Haggis_, how do we protect you from predators and harsh weather conditions?"

"And thirdly," Simmons continued as if it had been her talking all along. "What if you were to become catatonic or otherwise indisposed while far away from the camper?"

"Let's start calling it _The Haggis_, shall we? Get ourselves used to it?" Fitz suggested.

"Away from _The Haggis_," she corrected herself. "Well, the modifications that Fitz has made to the dwarves are nothing short of remarkable."

"Thank you, Simmons," he replied, clearly extremely chuffed. He picked up the case from next to him on the floor and snapped it open. "Now, Skye, if you wouldn't mind getting out of your chair."

"Ok," Skye said warily, doing as he asked.

With the flick of a finger across his tablet, Fitz had the dwarves surround her. "Imagine you're out in the desert in the heat of the day."

Skye nodded, clearly not thrilled at the prospect.

"Voila," Fitz announced, and an almost imperceptible haze suddenly surrounded Skye.

"Hey!" Her voice was ever so slightly muffled inside the force-field the dwarves had created. "There's aircon in here!"

"Well," Jemma politely contradicted. "In actual fact the dwarves are employing a highly advanced and miniaturised evaporative cooling system."

"Whatever!" Skye replied. "This is awesome."

"There's also an extremely high UV protective factor," Fitz added. "Perhaps more suited to the _pastier_ ones among us, but you'll be thankful for it out in the desert."

"And the dwarves will allow uninterrupted video and audio comms _and_ all of the medical monitoring we want to achieve." Jemma beamed over at Fitz. "They really are _incredibly_ advanced."

Fitz fondly held her gaze a moment before continuing. "This force-field around you acts like an advanced combat armour."

Jemma took over excitedly. "No predator can get at you in there without suffering a fatal electric shock, not even a mosquito!"

"And, as for what we were saying about the ground collapsing beneath you or in case you were to pass out?" Fitz swiped at his tablet, triumphantly.

"Ahh!" Skye cried as the dwarves travelled upwards, lifting her a foot or two from the carpet.

A swipe or two more and Fitz had Skye effortlessly circle Coulson's desk and return to where she started, then the dwarves gently lowered her to the floor.

"That was _amazing_, Fitz!" Skye cried, as the dwarves shuttled themselves neatly back into their case.

Coulson was clearly impressed. "Not even Tony Stark himself could have rigged up something like that at your age, Fitz," he enthused.

"Well," replied Fitz, now flushed with pride and embarrassment. "Stark doesn't work with Simmons, does he? She's the genius with all the ideas. I just tinkered with these little fellas until I could pull off what she'd described."

Jemma blushed quietly.

Coulson looked almost as if he were getting a little choked up. He allowed himself a rare moment of tenderness. "I couldn't trust you to just anyone, Skye," he croaked, seeking her eyes. "But you really will be in good hands with FitzSimmons."

Skye looked gratefully from Fitz to Simmons and then smiled back at Coulson. "The _best_."

* * *

_Stay tuned for the next instalment of _The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome_. I have no idea what you can look forward to in this next bit because precisely _none_ of it is written. So this time you really HAVE to leave me some reviewing love and let me know if you want to read more of this story! Otherwise I might have to get back to real life..._


	18. Chapter 18

_WARNING SPOILERS S2E10. _

_I give you Part 10 (ch18 of _By My Side_) of _The Flying Haggis: Fitzsimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome _in which Simmons finally lets Fitz in on her secret plans for the evenings while they're away on this mission with Skye. This continuous story starts back in ch9 of _By My Side_ after some one-shots._

* * *

Dismissed from Coulson's office, Skye made straight for her bunk, Jemma for the lab and Fitz for the garage until he remembered the small matter of sleeping arrangements on _The Flying Haggis_. He turned on his heel and sprinted after Simmons.

She was heading down the long corridor that ran parallel to the lab when he caught sight of her. "Simmons!" he called, and she turned and waited for him to catch up.

"Hi!" he puffed, taking a moment to catch his breath, his hands resting on his knees.

"Someone needs more fitness training," Simmons commented, laughing.

"Hey!" he replied in mock-offence. "I ran after you as fast as I could! It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't want to face Mack after the bedding conversation it sounds like you two had without getting the full story!"

"Fair enough. You're probably not that unfit." She looked him over appraisingly. "Besides, I suppose you _do_ have a low body fat percentage."

"Err, thanks?" he replied, straightening up.

"And your face _is_ nice and symmetrical."

"My face?" Fitz turned to look at his reflection in the glass that ran the length of the corridor. "I guess," he shrugged, shifting his glance to her reflection. "Though I think your face is nicer." He shook his head sharply. "_Anyway_, tell me about this bed thing. Did you really tell Mack you, err… you wanted us to… umm… share the same bed?"

Jemma broke into a slightly maniacal laugh as she moved off again in the direction of the lab. "Oh, I was just having fun with him."

Fitz put a lid on his own relief/disappointment and gave her a disapproving look as he followed after her. "That's all well and good, Jemma, but poor Mack actually needs to get started on fitting out _The Haggis_. He just wants your instructions."

"I gave them to him!" Jemma said, defensively, pushing open the heavy lab door and holding it for him.

Poor Fitz gazed at her in total bafflement as he walked past her into the lab. "I don't understand," he said flatly. "Mack says you were telling him to leave us with the one bed."

"That's right," she replied, laying her armful of equipment down on her workspace.

"Sooo, how is that just having fun with Mack?" Fitz demanded, leaning back against her desk, arms folded across his chest. "That sounds like you were actually being serious."

"Ohh. Well, I don't intend for us to actually _sleep_ there," she laughed, dropping a few files neatly into her filing cabinet.

"You don't?" Fitz rubbed at his temples with both hands. "Where are you imagining we'll sleep then?" he cried. "It's not exactly a huge amount of living space!"

"Fitz," Jemma whispered earnestly. "Can you imagine the view of the stars we'll have from out in the Chilean desert?"

"Don't change the subject, Simmons!" Fitz was getting annoyed now. "I need to get back to the garage with some vaguely comprehensible instructions for Mack!"

Jemma gave him a look. "Fitz, when Skye's asleep in her chamber, the dwarves will be free, right?"

Fitz just nodded, exasperated that he was getting nowhere.

"So that's 10pm til 8am every night that _we_ could have use of the dwarves."

"And why on earth would _we_ have a use for the dwarves!?" Fitz cried. "Coulson would kill us if we just wandered off and left Skye alone and defenceless!"

Jemma pulled out a box from under her workspace. It was marked with the logo of an Australian camping company. Out of the box she pulled two rolls of khaki material. "We _won't_ be leaving Skye alone," she said, unrolling one. "Have you ever seen a swag before?"

Fitz narrowed his eyes. "Isn't swag just another way of saying unmistakeable cool?"

She looked back at him in surprise.

"What?" he asked, defensively. "I read Urban Dictionary now and again. I'm just trying to make sense of my own baffling generation." He looked suddenly sad. "Trip had swag."

Simmons nodded, quiet for a moment. Then she continued to layout the roll of material. "Anyway, not the ephemeral attribute, I mean the physical object. _This_ is a swag." And she unfolded the top layer of material, revealing a comfy looking mattress underneath. She scooted herself under the top layer, and lay down on the mattress, pulling the top layer back over her like a sheet. "Water-proof canvas," she said. "Perfect amount of room in here for a good sleeping bag."

Fitz sighed. "Jemma, I still don't understand. Are we just leaving the bed where it is coz your plan is for us to sleep on the floor?"

Jemma shook her head. "Not on the _floor_, Fitz." She paused meaningfully, placing her hands over the top layer of the swag and casting her eyes up towards the ceiling. "On the _roof_!"

Suddenly it all made sense. Fitz crouched down next to Jemma, grinning. "That is _brilliant_!"

"I know!" She repositioned herself in the swag to look eagerly into his face. "Can you imagine it? We get Skye into her chamber each night, knock her out with the organic compound, and then climb up onto the roof with the dwarves…"

"'Cause the solar panels will be out of action in the dark…" Fitz continued.

"Exactly," Jemma replied. "And then we unroll our swags, climb into our sleeping bags and sleep under the stars! In such a remote place we'll have one of the most amazing unrestricted views of the night sky imaginable!"

"And Bashful, Doc and the fellas will protect us from the weather, the temperature, predators and even mosquitoes!" Fitz was grinning like an idiot. "I'll install some magnification capabilities," he suddenly muttered, getting excited. "The dwarves can even guide us through the constellations using GPS. We might discover a new star!"

Jemma grinned back. "So, it's a good plan?"

"It's the best!" he enthused. Then his face fell. "But will it be ok with Coulson?"

Jemma looked a bit sheepish. "I wasn't _exactly_ going to tell him."

Fitz gave her a smirk. "And that's why you've left Mack in such a flap."

She nodded. "Can you convince him that we agreed sharing the one bed was the best solution?"

Fitz sat on the floor next to Jemma, resting his chin on his fist. He remembered back to he and Mack's original bedding conversation. "It might be a bit of a challenge."

"You could tell him that we slept perfectly comfortably together in my single bunk last night."

Fitz's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Are you serious!?" he cried. "Isn't it bad enough that Skye caught us without me telling Mack too? We'd never hear the end of it!"

"I suppose," Jemma agreed.

"And it doesn't seem all that professional does it," Fitz added. "Planning to share a bed together while out on a remote field mission."

"No," she sighed. "I suppose it doesn't."

Fitz thought a moment. "The dwarves!" he grinned. "We won't tell them what we're really using them for, we can just say we'll use them to create a solid divider between us so it's as if the one bed becomes two single beds."

"It does save work for Mack and space in the camper," Jemma agreed. "Anyway, if we_ really_ had some sort of repressed desire issues that prevented us from being able to get any rest if we _did_ share that double bed…"

Fitz suddenly became very interested in a spot on the floor.

"…it's not as if we could get much in the way of decent distance between us inside _The Haggis_ anyway!"

She was totally right. Fitz thought he could probably sell it to Mack without arousing too much suspicion.

Jemma beamed at him. "How great is this mission going to be!"


	19. Chapter 19

_Here's Part 11 (ch19 of By My Side) of _The Flying Haggis: Fitzsimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome_. A moment between Skye and her scientists._

* * *

"Simmons?" Skye called through the scientist's bunk door. "Are you in there?"

After a pause, Skye heard a distinct, "Mmph."

"Is Fitz in there too?" Skye called a little louder.

The bunk door shot open with an impressive force and Jemma, still bleary eyed and pyjama-clad gave Skye a distinctly unimpressed look. She suddenly yelled, loud enough for the rest of the plane to hear, "Fitz? Why on earth would Fitz be in my bunk, Skye? Are you losing your mind?" And then yanked Skye inside and slammed the bunk door closed again.

Once safely closed in, Skye copped the full force of Jemma Simmons' early morning pre-tea glare.

"Is it really necessary, Skye, to imply that you'd expect to find Fitz in my bunk?" she inquired archly.

"Sheesh! Settle down, Simmons," Skye shot back. "I only asked because last time I knocked, he _was_ here."

Jemma calmed down. "Alright," she replied. "Sorry, it's just that I wouldn't want anyone to think that anything untoward was going on in here."

"It's ok," Skye shrugged. "But as far as I'm concerned, you guys could be hanging out all night all the time. It wouldn't bother me."

"We _did_ used to do it a lot more," Simmons admitted. "But that was before… you know, before…"

"Before Ward?" Skye asked bluntly.

"Mmm," she agreed absentmindedly. "We were just friends then."

"Simmons?" Skye stared at her intently. "Is there anything I'm missing here? Aren't you still _just friends_?"

Jemma gave a high-pitched laugh. "Of _course_ we are, Skye!" she cried, with almost enough conviction to convince herself. "I just meant, things were different after…"

"It's ok," Skye encouraged. "We can say his name. Remember Voldemort?"

Jemma nodded. "Ward," she whispered menacingly. "Sorry, Skye. I haven't even asked you how you're going with that whole thing. Did you want to talk about it?"

"Did _you_?" Skye asked. "I doubt if any of us want to even be reminded that the guy exists! Anyway, let's wait til I'm on my own in the middle of a desert with a set of dwarf comms and the free range to blow the lid off the Richter Scale, shall we?" Skye grimaced. "Then I can tell you _all_ about it."

Jemma managed a sad laugh.

"Anyway, doesn't look like you'll have to wait too long for that little chat. Mack said _The Haggis_ is almost ready to go."

"Yes, I think Coulson said The Bus is scheduled to touch down in Chile on Wednesday."

"Look, Simmons," Skye said, looking earnestly at her friend. "I just wanted to say, to you and to Fitz, that I'm really grateful for all of this hard work you've been doing for me." She reached over and grabbed Jemma's hand. "I'm pretty terrified about all this you know, but Coulson insists we need to know what we're dealing with."

Jemma nodded sympathetically, placing her hand on top of Skye's. "I think he's probably right."

"I know," she sighed. "But it helps a lot to know that I'll have you and Fitz looking after me. Thank you."

"Of course, Skye," she replied. "Fitz and I would do anything for you."

"Even cook, I hear!" Skye laughed, suddenly eager to lighten the mood. "Is Fitz really in charge of catering?"

Jemma grinned. "He's an excellent cook, you know, if sometimes a bit particular about how things should be done."

"Fitz? Particular?" Skye feigned incredulity. "Surely not."

"Prepare yourself," Jemma warned good-humouredly. "He'll no doubt engage you as his kitchen hand now and again, and woe betide you if you don't chop the carrots to his unique specifications!"

"Now you've got me worried!" Skye giggled. "Will he be wearing some sort of special apron?"

Jemma smirked. "Only if he can decide which one to take out of his highly-prized collection of Scottish-themed numbers."

"I dread to think!" Skye replied. "And will you two be ok?" she asked gently. "You know, when I'm out of action? It's a long time to spend one-on-one if things are awkward between you."

Jemma paused thoughtfully. "You know, a month or two ago, I might have been petrified of all that time alone with Fitz." She smiled to herself. "But now, I'm quite looking forward to it. He _is_ my oldest and dearest friend in the world, you know."

Skye smiled back. "And I for one am thankful. You guys make quite a team."

There was another knock at the door, and on gaining Jemma's permission, the door slid open to reveal Fitz holding a cup of tea.

"Aww, look, Simmons!" Jemma cried. "Fitz is bringing you a cup of tea in bed!"

Fitz's face flushed. "Sorry. Bad time?"

"_Great_ time," Skye contradicted him, taking the tea out of his hands and handing it to Jemma. "Has he been doing this every morning?" she asked.

Jemma nodded, smiling warmly up at Fitz. "Every morning since we re-established our tea habit." She drank deeply from the teacup and sighed contentedly. "Fitz's tea is what gets me out of bed in the morning, just like in the old days back at Sci-Tech."

"You're a good man, Fitz," Skye declared. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"A-alright," Fitz stammered, still distinctly pink. "I won't. Thank you, Skye."

"Skye was just here to thank us for the work we've been doing to prepare for this mission," Jemma explained.

"Really?" Fitz asked. "That's nice. But it's nothing, honestly."

"We're just doing our job," Jemma added.

"And we really enjoy our work," Fitz concluded, while Jemma nodded in agreement.

"You've got that split-sentence thing going again, you realise?" Skye pointed out. "It's _adorable_. You two are going to provide my light relief for the next month."

Fitz looked unimpressed. "Along with a few other key services."

"She knows, Fitz," Jemma reminded him. "That's why she's here thanking us."

"Right," he managed a slight smile.

Jemma drained her teacup and clambered out of bed. "I should probably get ready to face the day," she yawned, standing on her tiptoes and stretching her arms as far as she could reach.

"Me too," said Skye, "but before I go, bring it in here." And she threw an arm around Simmons and an arm around Fitz and yanked them both into a fierce embrace. As prickly as he had been to find Skye in the way of his early morning moment with Jemma, Fitz immediately softened and warmly returned Skye's hug, as did Simmons.

"Well," Skye reflected, releasing them. "I guess if I _have_ to be stuck with some chemical-sleep-enforcing scientific researchers who are going to take me to the brink of my emotional and physical limits, I'm glad it's gonna be you guys."


	20. Chapter 20

Thanks for following along everyone! From now on, you'll need to find my new story entitled _The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome_ for future updates to this funny little tale. I hope you'll keep reading! Judging by the promos for what's coming up in March, this little story might provide you with some light relief - it all looks so painful!

* * *

It was as if, having allowed a tiny drop of tenderness to leak out in the presence of FitzSimmons the previous day, Coulson was powerless against the floodgates of fatherly tenderness he felt towards Skye as it came time to say goodbye. The two of them wandered around The Bus, arm in arm in the early dawn, the sun just beginning to spread a pale pink blush across the navy blue horizon. Meanwhile, FitzSimmons and Mack ran their final extensive tests of vehicles and equipment, rushing to get through their checklists before they felt the force of the desert sun.

Once assured that his odd little buddy would be safe, Mack extended his enormous paw towards Fitz who ignored it and grasped his huge friend in a hug. His fingers couldn't quite reach one another around the man's expansive back.

"Take care out here, won't you Turbo," Mack urged him, not without a hint of tenderness of his own. "Do you things are gonna be ok with…?" He jerked his head in Jemma's direction.

Fitz grinned. "It's a bit late now if they're not!"

Mack almost shuddered. "She's formidable, man. Don't cross her!"

"I wouldn't dare," Fitz agreed, shaking his head emphatically.

After handshakes and hugs from Hunter and Bobby and even a brief embrace for Skye from May, Skye and FitzSimmons found themselves alone on the sand, watching The Bus disappear behind its reflective cloaking in the slowly lightening sky.

"Right," said Skye, turning to her friends. "I'm ready to do some damage!"

Jemma blinked at her a few times then turned back to her work. "That's very…err… proactive of you, Skye."

"Ever since you asked me how I was feeling about Ward, I realised this was exactly what I needed to do," she explained, limbering up. "Wire me up, or whatever you have to do, zoom me out there and let me get some of this crap off my chest already!"

"Patience is a virtue," Jemma replied not looking up from her tablet, "And I'm not quite done with my final adjustments."

"Besides," interjected Fitz. "I'm baking scones for elevenses."

"Elevenses!?" Skye crowed. "Have I just stepped onto the set of _The Hobbit_? Did I miss second breakfast!?"

Fitz looked slightly put out. "I'll have you know, Skye, that the term _elevenses_ is fairly commonly employed on the British Isles."

Skye looked incredulously at Jemma for verification, who nodded her agreement as she tinkered with one of the dwarves. Skye held up her watch. "Even at seven am?"

"We've been up preparing since 0400 hours, Skye!" Fitz retorted defensively. "Even elevenses can be relative."

"And you're never not hungry," Skye allowed.

"Precisely," he nodded, holding open the door of _The Haggis_. "Coming?"

"I suppose venting about Ward won't be any less cathartic on a full stomach," she mused, taking the three metal steps in one stride.

"_Now _you're talking," Fitz agreed encouragingly.

Skye spun on her heel, taking in the confines of their home for the next month now that it really was all they had. Her isolation chamber loomed large at one end of the camper. She tried not to look at it too closely lest claustrophobia set in.

Simmons was hunched over her tablet in the centre of the booth-style seats that surrounded three sides of the little table. Above her, across from the table, was a row of flush white cupboard doors, onto which a screen could be projected. It would be from here that they'd hold conference with the outside world, and, if the mood took them, watch movies or play video games. Skye was kind of excited about the sleepover-style elements of the mission, even if she did have to get locked away at ten every night instead of inciting midnight feasts and spin the bottle like usual.

Fitz bustled around the kitchen, which seemed to take up more than a quarter of the camper's space. His design input was becoming clear. He was wearing a splendid tartan trimmed apron with a large picture of a pair of horned black highland cows peeking over a stone wall. Momentarily, he placed a pot of jam, a bowl of thick hand-whipped cream, his teapot and a milk jug on the little table. Jemma laid down her tablet and beamed at him as he placed her tea cup in front of her and filled it for her. Because his set only had two matching cups, Fitz had scrounged a spare mug from the mess for Skye. It was quite large and bore the image of a disturbingly grumpy looking cat.

Skye held the steaming mug up to her face. "Did you choose this one because of the striking resemblance?" she laughed.

Fitz shrugged. "I didn't really look at it. I just needed a mug."

"Such attention to detail," she remarked. "I'm touched."

"Shut up and eat," he muttered, laying a package wrapped in a tartan tea towel in the centre of the table.

"So is this what you Brits call Devonshire Tea?" Skye asked, unearthing a warm scone from inside the tea towel and slathering the crumbly item with jam and cream.

"Devon _has_ given us some good things," Jemma sighed. "Fitz, these are perfect!"

Fitz looked very pleased with himself but didn't respond, two thirds of a particularly well-topped scone in his mouth.

"Well," Skye announced, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Fitz has just popped my Devonshire Tea cherry and I'm coming back for more."

The more demure Fitz didn't quite know where to look.

"How have you gotten this far through life without a scone, Skye?" Jemma asked.

"Now that I've tasted one, I don't even know!" Skye laughed, placing two more on her plate and liberally applying jam and cream. "Great jam by the way, Fitz. When we get back you'll have to tell me where I can buy some."

"Fitz makes his own preserves," Jemma explained.

Skye looked at Fitz in shock. "You make jam!?"

"Preserves," Fitz murmured through a mouthful of scone. "Raspberry, blackberry and the odd marmalade."

Skye turned to Simmons. "Is there anything this man can't do? What a catch!"

Fitz inhaled some crumbs and had a little coughing fit while Simmons gave her a thin smile and looked away to punch a few last digits into her tablet.

"Right!" Simmons declared in an extremely business-like manner. "I think we're ready to try out these dwarves, don't you Fitz?"

His coughing fit just subsiding, Fitz managed a red-faced nod.


	21. Chapter 21

_Set after S2E16 Afterlife - contains spoilers!_

* * *

**Nothing Says Safety Like a Sandwich**

Fitz didn't want to read too much into anything. He'd been guilty of that in the past. He'd fallen too quickly into too many friendships that had ended in betrayal. He'd even begun to think he was seeing the pattern all over again as Jemma pursued her agenda set by fear. It was like a hundred punches to the stomach.

She'd reached over and taken his hand and he'd reciprocated but internally he'd held himself tightly wound. In the past a gesture like that had spoken of hope, now it only confused him further. She was bent on a world that was black-and-white and free of nuance.

Could he continue to love someone like that?

Could he stop?

Oh, the relief that had flooded his body when he saw what she was _really_ doing with that cube. To go to her in front of the others, to perform all of the anger and disillusionment he had genuinely felt, allowing it to melt away with only the breath those words cost him.

Almost the hardest thing he had to do was to feel her there, helping him hoist his bag onto his back, and yet not turn around. To let the others think he would walk away from her without a second glance. To have imagined what it might mean to leave her for good without even a last embrace.

He couldn't help but entertain the possibility that they hadn't read one another correctly. So to actually close his fingers around the cube, to know he'd been heard, to know that they were working as one despite all appearances almost surpassed that first wave of relief.

But what was this? What else had she packed for him? Her note, her unmistakeable hand – black marker, brown paper. _Stay safe_. And the sandwich that she seemed to believe best equipped him for life and death situations.

_Love_. It all bubbled back up inside him. The same love he'd tried to speak of for months but ended up having to show her. The same devotion that saw him hand her their only oxygen. The same affection that still had him reliving her tear-streaked face against his in his dreams.

In the same way that nothing was black-and-white for him anymore, his love for Jemma had also graduated the monochrome. She had been wrong, really wrong. She'd been wrong in ways that almost made him frightened of her. He knew that whatever he'd hoped might have come out of speaking of his feelings in the past, it was far too simplistic now. And maybe there was just too much in the way.

But as he took the first bite of her edible peace offering, all he could see was love. The _Love_ in her handwriting on the card in front of him, the love in her actions in the hours that had led him into the back of this taxi, the love that had gone into using hands that could develop a dendrotoxin or a microthread or a vibranium box at short notice for the humble purpose of making him his favourite sandwich.

He knew he felt unreasonably happy given he was fleeing all that he knew and heading into uncertain and no doubt unsafe territory, but a good sandwich will do that to you, especially when it's been made with love.

ooo

* * *

_ooo_

_Yes, I know. This is a little bit lame. But I LOVED his face with that sandwich and the title popped into my head and then I had to write it. I just HAD to! So much hope for a happy FitzSimmons!_

_I am waiting with bated breath for the arrival of episode 19 tonight (via the wonders of the internet) before we go and see The Avengers: Age of Ultron tomorrow! Eeeeeek! So excited!_

_If you are dying for more FitzSimmons and looking for something a bit more fun, you may like to check out my story "The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome" It's pretty long with fluff galore! It breaks away from canon after S2E10._

_Alright, peeps. Ciao!_

_(Oh, and if you are nicely going to leave a review, which you're very welcome to do, please no Avengers spoilers! Thank you!)_


	22. Chapter 22

**SERIOUS S2E19 SPOILERS!**

* * *

**Careful**

Fitz didn't feel quite so different any more. He felt a lot like his old self. He wasn't stuttering. His hand wasn't playing up on him. The data in his head seemed to have gotten its act together at last.

He had spent an inordinate amount of time talking about his differences as if they made him and Skye alike, as if damage and superpowers were somehow the same thing. She had been different, he had been different and Jemma hadn't been coping with any of it.

With a jab of his finger, Fitz had told her the scariest change was in her and he'd meant it.

The splinter bomb, however, was entirely new.

Ward was alive, or so it seemed. So, what exactly had happened back there? He was almost too afraid to ask.

After getting Mike evac-ed to the facility that would restore his leg, Jemma went to check on Lincoln and catch up with Skye. Fitz anticipated that he and Skye would end up crashed out in front of some old movie in the early hours of the morning as per their new 'usual', so he didn't follow.

Instead, he took his chance to sneak back to the lab. Looking cautiously over his shoulder he surreptitiously removed the case from where he'd seen Jemma stash it. It was very unlike her not to return unused inventory, especially when a full case was left with only one empty slot. He'd known Jemma to eat through boxes of chocolates in whole rows at a time, unable to handle the untidiness of uneven numbers, of empty places. Even when attempting self-control she'd find herself haunted by the asymmetricality of a half-eaten sleeve of biscuits, forcing them on him to ameliorate her sense of order. Fitz was always hungry so it was a quirk of which he'd become very fond.

Clicking the clasps and raising the lid he could see that she must have at least tried to make good on her plan. He quickly closed up the case and tucked it away, glancing around once more to be sure he'd been undetected. He collapsed onto the chair he'd been wheeling around in earlier and pushed himself as far away from the case as he could get.

_Poof_ she had said. _No more Ward._ Her tone sing-song, like a librarian with a great big picture book during Story Hour. Like a S.H.I.E.L.D. scientist with a Hydra-made hand-held weapon of total annihilation. _Poof._

_That's not love_, she'd declared with a confidence that made it sound like she knew what love was. Later Fitz had worried over the segue from that to the sandwich. Had he made it sound that though _that_ wasn't love, he thought the sandwich was? Because though didn't think that _that_ was love, he didn't know if _this_ was love anymore either.

What if after all her fear that she'd never get her best friend back, she'd gone and lost herself? What if _he_ was back but _she _had vanished, consumed by this person whose thinking wasn't all that far from the philosophy behind Project Insight?

If it hadn't been so horrifying, Fitz might have laughed to see the loop come full circle. A trusting, wide-eyed scientist watches her closest friend nearly destroyed, her allies turning on one another and the people she loves put at risk. The fear turns her inward and her compassionate, forgiving heart is hardened. She no longer believes in second chances. She believes in eliminating the threat before it has a chance to arise.

She looked more like a Hydra agent now than she did even when she walked through their doors every day, when she watched the technology that powered the splinter bombs being developed, when she was horrified by the very idea of the Diviners destructive capabilities.

He pushed himself off from the nearest work station and spun on the spot, eyes fixed on the ceiling like some sort of Winter Paralympics wheel-chair figure skater. The motion and the ensuing dizziness focused him on one spot.

_He_ still believed in second chances.

Fitz couldn't let Jemma continue down this path that she'd stepped onto.

He knew what he wished she would have done for him. Now it was his chance to show her how it was done.

Fitz had to love Jemma back to her old self.

* * *

_If only I had the time to think through and write HOW Fitz might love Jemma back to her old self! _

_Ok, we're about to fall behind the US again because we're going to wait til our TV schedule catches up to try and make this season last longer. So PLEASE no spoilers! _

_Maybe I'll imagine how Fitz goes about getting the old Jemma back to entertain/console myself while I wait for that? _

_I don't like where Jemma is going people. I begin to worry that by the time she realises she loves Fitz, there won't be much of her left for him to love! How can you be so cruel M.A.O.S. writers?! I mean, it's so painful it's almost as if there's a Whedon involved somewhere in this! ;)_


	23. Chapter 23

**Love Bombing the Splinter Bomber**

_This is set at the end of 2x19 The Dirty Half-Dozen (and follows on from my previous chapter entitled _Careful_) coz that's where we're up to in my part of the world. I love reviews but if you're ever so nicely going to leave one, please keep it spoiler free! I have managed to pick up the vague vibe that things are going to end pretty badly this season but for the moment here I am, in my blissfully ignorant bubble, plotting my way towards a happily-ever-after for FitzSimmons…_

* * *

It wasn't until Jemma slid the heavy door closed, confining herself at last in her nondescript wood-panelled bunk back at the Playground, that she drew her hands out of her pockets and allowed herself to take in how violently they were trembling.

She reached up to shakily yank the elastic out of her pony-tail, hoping against hope that it was merely the long-unfamiliar tension of having her hair pulled back from her temples that was causing the pulsing pain in her head.

For so long now Fitz had sounded like some sort of broken record. _You're afraid. You can't cope. You've changed._ But none of his accusations could compare to the wide flare of realisation around Ward's eyes that she glimpsed through the cloud of mist _(poof!)_ that had once been Bakshi.

And what had Ward said? How dare he! _Him_ disappointed in _her_? The very nerve.

And yet… Her knees weakened. She half-collapsed against her bed. The righteous indignation she so wanted to feel, the unerring sense of justification, that _opportunity to do the right thing_ turned to ash on her tongue.

She had nothing. Nothing beyond the desire for revenge that had burned in her from the moment she'd awoken in that compression chamber without Fitz.

Jemma had almost forgotten. All that rage, all that bitterness had been born out of her loss.

She let herself lay back against the pillows, kicking her shoes off just before she slipped her feet between the sheets, and pulled the covers almost over her head. What must Fitz think of her now? And what if he found out what she'd done, what she'd become? Then he would really be lost to her, and this time it would be because he chose to go.

The grief erupted from deep within her and Jemma found herself powerless to fight against the gasping sobs that shook her frame, tears streaming down her cheeks and soaking into her pillow.

ooo

Fitz was still wracked with curiosity about what had become of that missing splinter bomb and in the few hours since the team had returned Jemma hadn't volunteered so much as a hint. However, he was beginning to piece together a fairly disturbing narrative that ended with Sunil Bakshi. While Bakshi could never have been described as innocent, what exactly _was_ he while under Ward's control?

Regardless, Fitz had already made his decision. Even if Jemma had callously blown a man to smithereens, if he left he to her own devices, he'd only watch her get further and further away from him. If it were compassion, forgiveness and love that she suddenly somehow lacked, he'd have to do his best to heap them all on her to turn her away from embracing the horrific alternative.

For starters, now that he could trust his hands to remain steady, he appointed himself man-in-charge-of-tea. _It'll be just like back at the Academy,_ he mused to himself as he unearthed her favourite bone china tea cup and saucer from the mess. Back then he had never appeared anywhere without some sort of hot beverage or baked good to hand to her. In those days he had loved what he chose to perceive as her dependence on him – she certainly didn't seem to _need_ him for anything else. Oh, to foster some semblance of that dependence again, to feel once more that she _needed_ him, if only for tea and toast.

He carefully compiled this inaugural trust-rebuilding tea tray with all of the elements he knew Jemma most loved and set off towards her bunk wanting to whistle with joy at the unerring steadiness of his hands even as he navigated the long corridors. In the few days that he, Coulson and Hunter had been restored to the fold, he too had been assigned one of the bland Playground bedrooms in lieu of his beloved bunk on the Bus, now scattered in a million tiny pieces across the Arctic.

Fitz supposed he could make the best of it. It hadn't escaped his notice that his sliding door was directly across the corridor from his current destination. If he played his cards right, it could be the easiest thing in the world for them to eventually slip back into those old habits of sharing the one tube of toothpaste or keeping a chess game going on his bedside table or cuddling up to one another in front of their latest DVD series discovery. She might even get back into the routine of dropping by to borrow one of his cardigans late at night when she got cold. God, he had always loved the sight of her wrapped in one of his cardies.

He carefully manoeuvred the weight of the tea tray onto one arm and then held up his free hand to knock.

No response.

"Jemma?" he called. "I brought you some tea."

He heard a shuffling around behind the door so at least he knew she was in there.

"Can I come in?" he asked gently.

When at last she opened the door, Fitz almost dropped the tray in concern. Her eyes were red and her tears still flowed, though less frequently now.

She took one look at the tray in Fitz's arms and began to cry again, turning her back on him to flop once more onto the bed and hide herself under the covers.

Fitz gently lowered the tray onto her dresser and quietly slid the door closed behind him.

Comfortable in the confidence of his resolve to love her back to herself, he didn't think twice about lifting the covers and lowering himself onto the bed next to her, winding his arms around her quivering frame. He knew she'd never have opened the door to him if his presence wasn't welcome.

As if to confirm his conviction, Jemma rolled back towards him and clutched at his shirt, burying her face in his chest and weeping in earnest. Even in the midst of his concern for her, Fitz couldn't help the warmth that filled his body as she clung to him.

Jemma was never needy, she hated the very thought of it. He only ever saw her like this in the rare moments that her grief became too hard to hold in. Throughout the course of their long friendship it had been his unique privilege to be the one that she sought out in those few moments when she could no longer hold it together, just as she was once there for him in his emotional moments, which had always seemed to come about far more frequently.

In the hiatus between them, in which he had turned to Mack and also found himself embraced by Hunter and by Skye, Fitz's needs had been met elsewhere. But to whom had Jemma been able to turn as her world fell down around her? Perhaps that hand-squeeze and sandwich had been all she'd let herself show in all this time. Judging from the opening of the floodgates that was currently taking place in his arms, he assumed she'd been holding in far too much for far too long.

But he was here now and no matter what it would be that she confessed to, his reaction was predetermined. His fiercest loyalty had only ever been to her anyway.

* * *

_By the way, if you want an addition to your soundtrack for FitzSimmons, you need to add _When the War is Over_ by _Cold Chisel_. Available on Spotify and, if you must, you can find some live performances of it on YouTube. Just make sure that Cold Chisel or Jimmy Barnes are involved somewhere in order to get the full effect! And please review in a spoiler-free way!_


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